i'll paint a ray of hope around you
by JaneScarlett
Summary: "We're all stories in the end…and this story is about a Lord, voyaging the world in his magic ship; and a Lady, waiting to be rescued. There are quests to be fulfilled, people to be saved… and a happy ending?" The Doctor grinned at the children. "Might just be." (Library fix-it)
1. Prologue: Story Time at Christmas

This was -originally- started for a request (Library fix-it + Nine/River) from Angus… who knows me well enough to know I can't resist a challenge.

Thanks for that, sweetie. And happy (much belated) birthday.

_Disclaimer: Nearly everything here is owned by the BBC. Title is from the movie: Pete's Dragon_

* * *

**Prologue: Story time at Christmas**

They gathered around him in his rooms; and from the big, almost grown-up children to the tiniest of the little ones, they all watched eagerly as the Doctor sighed, wriggling in his chair to get comfortable.

This -right here- was his favourite bit. This was what made Christmas worthwhile for him.

"Sometimes," the Doctor began, speaking loud enough that even the children in the back of the room could hear him, "we talk about amazing things that have happened, and we call them fables. Or legends."

"Or fairy tales!" a little girl sitting right in the front piped up. The Doctor frowned for a moment before remembering her name. Liz. A little ginger girl with big eyes and no front teeth. He nodded, giving her a cheerful wink.

"Or fairy tales," he agreed. "I even knew someone who mistakenly called them History... But of course, she em_was/em_ an archaeologist. Can't blame her for getting that wrong."

There were giggles from the older children in the room, the ones who had heard versions of this particular tale before; and the Doctor laughed himself as he looked into that crowd of small faces.

"You can call them a lot of things, but I've always preferred my word. em_Stories/em_. Because that's what we all are, in the end. Some true or embellished, confusing or mysterious; some that are happy or sad or even have a little bit of magic and impossible possibilities... Oh, you get all sorts. And this one," the Doctor said, leaning forward and gazing around the room to meet every single pair of eyes, "is a little bit of em_everything/em_.

"Because this one is about a very lonely Lord who went off see the world in his magic ship; and a beautiful Lady who got lost and stuck in a prison and was waiting to be rescued. There are quests to be fulfilled and items to be found and people to be saved. There's even a Sea Witch and an imp and a chatty computer and some fighting and running… well, lots of running."

"And a happy ending?" Liz called out again, too excited to keep still. "Is there a happy ending for everyone, Doctor?"

He looked at her, trying to be serious; but even he couldn't hold back the grin that crept slowly over his face.

"Hmm," said the Doctor thoughtfully. "em_Might/em_ just be a happy ending… but that's no way to tell a story! Giving you the end and not the beginning! Time isn't a straight line, but still… there em_is/em _an order to these things.

"So." He sat back in his chair, templing his fingers and smiling benevolently at the children. "Shall I start this story with those old famous words, known throughout the Universe? Yes. I think that's a em_fantastic/em_ way to start."

"Once upon a time," said the Doctor, "all the way back in 2004, the Ninth Doctor walked the streets of London…"


	2. An imp in London Town

**Chapter 1: An Imp in London Town**

He looked at the ground as he walked the London streets, taking intense interest in each cobblestone and uneven bit of paving… because looking up, looking at the night sky only served to remind him of what he'd lost. Thrown away, even. With both hands.

_Not my fault, _the Doctor reminded himself. It was like a mantra, those words. Every time he stopped running, stopped moving for long enough, he thought of flying away from Gallifrey for the last time; and the guilt crushed him anew.

_Gone, all gone. My home is gone, my family, friends; it's all __**gone**__…_

And then he'd say it again, over and over in his mind. _ Not my fault, not my fault._

Not that chanting those words helped. They didn't; but a little piece of him hoped that maybe one day he'd say them enough that they'd be true. Actually provide comfort.

_Not my fault, not at all. __**Their**__ fault. _

But those words weren't true either. It was their fault for forcing him into it; but oh, his too for actually doing it.

He was so busy looking at the ground, watching where his feet fell that he was startled when something moved in the corner of the street. A shapeless bundle under a ragged blanket shivered and twitched; and the Doctor recoiled when a frail green hand stretched out toward him.

"Alms, milord? Alms for the poor?"

"Two things," the Doctor said, eyeing the hand groping toward him with suspicion. "No wait, three.

"First of all, in Twenty-first century England, no one hangs around on street corners at midnight, asking passer-by's for alms. Spare a pound, perhaps. Play on my sympathies by telling me how hungry you are, or how cold.

"But alms belong to another century. You ought," he continued, sounding rather cheerful, "to get your terminology right if you're going to go begging round here."

The figure went very still, one green hand staying outstretched with its skin shining a pale jade even under the moonlight.

"Noted, milord," it whispered. "I'll check my wording from now on. But that was only one thing. What are the other two?"

"The second," said the Doctor curtly, "is that you're simply the wrong colour. You're in England. On Earth. Beings of Earth are not-" he took a step closer, pulling heavy woollen fabric off the little figure, "-green."

Beneath the blanket, sitting cross-legged on the London street was an imp straight out of the fairy tales. Short and pale green, childishly androgynous, with a crop of richly verdant hair rippling in shiny waves down slender shoulders all the way to the pavement. Large black eyes with no whites or irises, strangely bug-like in a small pointed face glittered at the Doctor.

"Some people are green," protested the imp.

"Not humans. If you're going to hang around on Earth, you have to look the part."

"Like you do, milord?"

The Doctor shrugged. "I can pass, yes. At least I'm not an unnatural colour."

"I was told to tell you it's not easy being blue."

"And yet, _you're_ green."

"Easier to be green than blue. And you're so very blue, milord."

"I," snapped the Doctor, "am nice and pink, thank you."

"Pink on the outside, perhaps," a small pointed tongue darted out, licking pale green lips, "but blue on the inside. Like a Gobstopper."

The Doctor cringed. "Thank you for that commentary. But I've better things to do than stand around at midnight arguing about colour with a… what are you, anyway? No," he said, holding up a hand, "I don't care what you are."

"Don't be stupid. You _have_ nothing better to do."

"Do so."

"Do _not,_ milord." The imp crossed its arms, glaring upward. "And don't argue. Anyway, you said three things, three things to tell me; and you've only said two."

"So I have. Pardon me for forgetting that. The third thing is," the Doctor surveyed the figure sitting implacably on the street with a hint of distaste, "that no one says 'milord' like that. Not nowadays."

The creature giggled, a shrill high-pitched sound that made the Doctor roll his eyes.

"Except that you must always use the correct form of address for people, shouldn't you? And I think I'm right about who you are. Leather coat, those blue eyes reflecting your sad, blue inside…and those ears. I was told to look out for those ears."

"What's wrong with my ears?" the Doctor protested. He hadn't looked in a mirror, not properly since the last time he'd regenerated. Didn't really care what he looked like, this go round. If there were justice in the Universe, he'd look like as much of a monster as he felt inside… but no. A glimpse had shown him cropped hair and blue eyes, sharp nose and defined jawbone. Normal enough. No one should scream and run away when they saw him.

"Those ears are ridiculous. Still," the imp shrugged, "I was told to watch for them. He said I'd know you by them; know that you're the milord I'm waiting for."

"I'm not a milord," the Doctor said flatly.

"Well, you're not a milady. And I think you are," the being answered slyly. "I think you must be the Lord of Time I've been waiting for."

They eyed each other, the imp with satisfaction and the Doctor with suspicion.

"You've been waiting for me?" asked the Doctor. "Why? Who sent you? And what are you? Don't know many green things that look like you."

"I'm from quite far away," the imp said. "Like you, but in a very different way. And I'm repaying a favour. Was sent by someone with a supreme interest in you to help…"

"Not being much help," the Doctor muttered. "Being a pain, more like. Give me your name, at least."

"Names are important, and I can't give you mine." The imp shrugged again. "But you can call me your guide, if you'd like. Because there is something for you to do, something big and important that only you are capable of. There is a lost and beautiful Lady who needs to be saved..."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "A lady who needs to be saved? Where is she, in a lake or something, clutching a sword?"

The imp snickered. "Not a lake, certainly. A pond, perhaps."

"You want me to rescue a Pond Lady." The Doctor pretended to think, tapping his cheek with one finger. "Nope. Not interested."

"Alright then," snapped the imp. "If I call her a Princess, would that make it better for you? She needs to be saved no matter who she is. She is crying for her Prince Charming to rescue her. There are tasks to win through, trials to overcome, maybe even danger to avert…

"Are you interested, milord? In taking on the mission?"

He paused for a moment, just long enough to make the little creature think he might actually be willing to accept…

"No. I'm no one's charming Prince. But thanks for the message." He turned to walk away, and the imp laughed.

"You're not full of charm, it's true. But what if I were to tell you milord, that you must do it?"

The Doctor sighed. Remembering flying away from a time lock, grief and anger in his hearts so heavy he wondered why he didn't sink straight through the TARDIS floor, plummeting to the stars beneath him.

"Sometimes," he said softly, "you must do a lot of things. Good or bad. But this one," he sneered, "rescuing a Princess or even some Lady… _this_ sounds like something I can walk away from."

"Then what if I tell you," the imp said slyly, ducking its head and peering up at him, "that this will make your dreams come true?"

"I don't dream."

"Come now, Milord Time. No lies between us!" The creature giggled like a child. "Everyone dreams. And if you're a good boy -a very very good one, who does what he's supposed to- then maybe what you want will come true."

"I'll be a real, live boy?" the Doctor mocked. "Thanks anyway."

"No. If you're very, very good… then I was told to tell you that even you can get your reward. The best one of all.

"You won't be alone anymore."

He was turning to walk away when the imp whispered the last words; and he wished he could unhear them. Unless pretending they didn't affect him. He had always been lonely. A lonely little boy, a lonely man even when he was out travelling the stars, companions at his side. Lonelier still when he returned to Gallifrey, at their beck and call during the Time War.

And loneliest of all now. Planet destroyed. His race destroyed. Last Time Lord standing; and miserable because of it.

"Got your attention now, haven't I?" The imp stood up, stretching thin arms above its head and arching its back like a cat. "I was told that if you wouldn't just do it, help that poor trapped Princess… those would be the magic words to use. And he was right!"

"Fine," the Doctor snapped. "Yes, those were magic words. So then, you've got my attention. What do I do to rescue a princess? Do I need some sort of sword?"

"No. No swords for you. Only this."

With a graceful bow, head down and hand outstretched, the imp held something out and the Doctor took it, turning it over in his hands with a bemused smile and raised eyebrow.

"Who uses a CD to rescue a Princess?"


	3. The Witch at the Bottom of the Sea

**Chapter 2: The Witch at the Bottom of the Sea**

Long hair, River decided grumpily, was a pain. Bad enough when she played the part of the witch, watching hair growing at an alarming rate from Charlotte's head, her fingers twisting it into a smooth, never-ending plait. Bad enough when she had to climb said plait, feeling it slip beneath her hands like a rope of silk thread.

But this time, she was Rapunzel. Josh and Ella had insisted, Charlotte had gleefully agreed; and so where did that leave her?

In a tower. Blond curls _everywhere_. Falling in a heavy weight off the back of her head, tied unevenly throughout its length to provide foot-and-handholds for when the witch came to visit. Dragging in coils all through the dusty corners of the floor. Piled even on the table and draped across the tops of bookshelves.

Insanity. It had never been her favourite story, and yet Rapunzel had always seemed so… romantic. Most girls -herself included- had always thought the idea of that long hair so fetching and beautiful and feminine…

But River, alone in a tower with only her hair for company found herself having an alarming number of decidedly un-fairy tale thoughts. If this story were even remotely true, what would Rapunzel's septic system have been like? In a tower with no doors and only a single window, could she even have had running water? How on earth did she shower? Didn't her skin crawl, knowing that even if she took a bath, she'd still be filthy by osmosis because her hair was long enough to fill five bathtubs by itself?

For that matter... how much would her conditioner bill be to keep this mass in good shape? Most likely it'd be the debt of a fairly well-off country. And, wouldn't it have been riddled with split ends...?

She was on the verge of driving herself mad when she heard the witch's call. Gathering armfuls of hair, shoving the rest along with her feet, River shuffled to the window, dumping the entire load down the side of the tower.

"You look cross today," Charlotte said when she emerged from the window, dressed entirely in black with a crooked nose fixed on her face.

"I am cross today," snapped River. "I hate my hair, and I hate this tower and I absolutely _hate _this story."

Charlotte's face fell, small shoulders drooping sadly.

"I thought you'd like it," she said plaintively. "You always play the witch and any other bad people. I thought that for a change, you'd like to be someone good. _I_ love playing Rapunzel…"

River put her arms around the child, feeling awful for taking out her frustration on her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, brushing a kiss over Charlotte's forehead. "I know you do."

"She's not very you though, is she?" Charlotte wrapped her arms around River's waist, dark eyes peering up seriously. "Waiting."

"You know me quite well now," said River with a tiny, mirthless laugh, "I've never been good at waiting."

Or being trapped. Wrapped up in one story and tied with a pretty bow were the things River hated the most. Being jailed, unable to escape; and being forced to be patient until her prince showed up.

Story of her life, really. At least, the life she was living right now.

"I bet you would have cut off your own hair," Charlotte said, eyes shining. "Then tied it to your bed and climbed down it yourself to escape forever."

"Sounds like we're writing up a new fairy tale right here," River laughed. She sat on the stone floor, sinking into the long hair like it was some very bushy -yet oddly comfortable- cushion, with Charlotte still in her arms, head resting against River's shoulder.

"What else?" prompted Charlotte. "What would River-Rapunzel have done then? After she escaped?"

"Maybe she would have gone to find her prince," River answered. "Maybe he got side-tracked or distracted; he does, you know. Or maybe he needs to be rescued himself."

She continued talking, weaving a long and exciting tale of adventure and rescue for the child in her arms; but her mind was somewhere else. Trying to figure it out, as she had all this time. Was it days or weeks she'd been here? Months? Sometimes it felt more like years and centuries.

Days and nights weren't a finite quantity in the Library; and anyway, outside in the real world, she'd always measured the passage of time by _him_. Events were what was important, when every day had a depressing sameness to it. Daylight hours were spent behind bars in Stormcage, but her nights were bright, spangling _events _spent with the Doctor.

And even later on when he didn't show up as frequently, or after she'd left prison; there were always ways to mark time. Daytimes were for classes, for students who called her Professor and wrote long papers to prove their intelligence. Night-times were for adventure, sometimes seeking him out or by herself.

"How long has it been," River asked suddenly, jiggling Charlotte slightly in her arms. "How long have I really been here?"

"You can't ask me that," the little girl answered. "You know you can't; I've told you."

"Because you don't really know?"

"I…" Charlotte faltered, small face pinched and serious. "I do know, sort of. But I promised I wouldn't say. I promised you'd be happy, and if I tell, then you _won't_ be. Please don't make me break a promise?"

Even after all this time, River found she couldn't hate Charlotte. The child wasn't responsible for the fact that to River, this entire limitless database was just another form of jail. A large one, a varied one; but one with unbreakable walls to keep her contained within the confines of Charlotte's mind. And Charlotte herself couldn't even help that she was River's jailor, because she never intended to be. The Doctor had extracted a promise from a child to keep River safe; and like a child, she was doing what was asked for to the best of her ability.

So she didn't say anything else as she carefully stood up, brushing off her skirt and willing away the medieval gown and long hair until she stood back in her normal attire. White dresses were lovely, frail ethereal things; but River had always felt more comfortable in jodhpurs and a belted dress, gun holster swinging insolently from her hips.

"Come on," River said, trying to sound cheerful as Charlotte clambered to her feet, clinging once more to her hand. "Let's go see what Josh and Ella are doing? Maybe it'll be a good story."

Charlotte thought for a moment, face screwed up in concentration as she tracked where the other inhabitants of the Library were, before she sighed.

"No, it's Anderson, _again_. And I bet I know what Ella picked.

"I hate that one," she complained, as they stepped within the story pages. "The home of the Winds is scary."

"I don't know; I rather like those boys," River answered, a fond smile on her face. "That North Wind talks big, but he's really no match for a gun."

She left the children playing in Paradise, strolling aimlessly through the rest of Anderson's fairy tales. Waved a cheery hello to the Snow Queen, gave a respectful nod to the Marsh King, and ran a gentle hand over the downy head of the Ugly Duckling before finding herself beneath the waves, watching the Sea Witch standing over a bubbling cauldron, stirring around and around and around. River watched her, idly counting under her breath. Clockwise four turns; counter-clockwise the same amount. A pulse beat of rest, then clockwise again.

"I'm curious," River asked, striding forward into the Witch's line of sight. "I know it's part of the story; but how _do_ you manage to keep a fire lit here? Isn't it a bit too wet?"

The Witch didn't turn around, and River found herself wanting to needle her, just a little.

"I suppose you're a witch, though. Must be no problem for you to do impossible things. Make wood burn underwater? No problem. Keep the cauldron contents from floating away? Elementary, of course.

"Or maybe… you're not doing something magical after all. Are you making yourself something for tea?" she wondered aloud, her eyes on the Witch's scowling profile. "What_ do_ Sea Witches eat? Ships and shoes and naughty little mermaids?"

It was ridiculous of her to taunt a storybook character, but sometimes, River couldn't help herself. Josh and Ella had never really existed; and therefore their minds were blank slates for whatever roles they played. And the other adults here in the Library just didn't remember like she did. After that period of initial fascination they'd all had when first arriving, adventuring through any era, any book… they'd all forgotten. Paired off, mired themselves down into a replica of their outside lives. Homes and families and children and work, with occasional visits from their charming friend Professor Song to liven up their normal existences.

Maybe it was her genetics, River mused. Maybe, if she'd been ordinary like them, she'd have been happy here too. She'd have found herself some perfect façade of a man, have settled down and forgotten everything about River Song beyond occasionally rereading from a worn blue book, smiling at the fantastic adventures of a woman who shared her name.

But she _was_ different. She could taste the falseness in each story she participated in; and she remembered, everything. She remembered a world outside of here; where except for a handful of fixed points every decision could make a difference, change a person or a world or an era. She remembered a world of running and explosions and danger and wonder.

And she remembered a hand in hers and a bowtie looped over her knuckles, eight heartbeats in counterpoint and his lips on hers.

She never forgot; and she wondered, for one moment, whether he had.

The Witch laughed suddenly, turning to face River.

"What a funny girl you are," she rasped, reaching out to touch River's cheek. "So many funny thoughts in that pretty little head of yours. Quite delicious."

"Touch me again," River said pleasantly, ducking away from the wrinkled hand, "and you'll have some new flavouring thrown, screaming, into your pot. And I promise; it won't be me."

"Funny and full of life, too." Dark eyes glistened within folds of flesh, eyeing River up and down. "It's been ages since I've seen such spark and snap."

"Sorry; you seem to have mistaken me for a girl easily persuaded by flattery. I'm still not getting in your soup."

"Too much to live for, heh? Too much joy in your life? You never want," the Witch cackled, "to end it all? All your misery and unhappiness and uncertainty…"

River shook her head, rolling her eyes; but there must have been something on her face, writ large enough to be as loud as if she'd shouted.

"Ah," the Witch crowed triumphantly. "You do. There's something you're craving, my girl. Isn't there? Tell the truth now, the Sea Witch always knows."

"I do hate," River sighed, pointedly looking away, "people who talk about themselves in the third person."

The Witch gave a little chuckle, a sly smirk in River's direction before ambling over to her shelves. There were glass jars there, so dark with dust and grime that it was impossible to see the contents; and she peered at them, leaning close to select a few while muttering to herself.

"It's not soup I'm making," she said more clearly, pouring a few drops of an amber liquid into the cauldron, letting something fall out of another jar with a loud plop before it sank to the bottom. "I'm making a potion, a special potion for a special person who I knew was coming to ask for my help.

"What if," the Witch continued, her voice turning soft and hypnotic, "I could give you what you want? Do you believe that I could, girl?"

"My name isn't _girl_," River couldn't resist saying, tucking her thumbs into belt loops and leaning back to eye the Witch suspiciously.

"Well, you haven't given me your name."

"And I don't plan to. I know," River smirked, "the way of fairy tales. Names are power."

"Some names more than others."

"How _nice_ to find someone to argue semantics with at the bottom of an ocean."

"The bottom of the ocean is where you'll stay, girl. Unless you want my help?

"Because I can help," the Witch insisted. "I can see what you want. I can see _who_ you want. Your handsome Prince, the one you saved? You want him to remember you. You want him to love you enough to save you from your simple boring life."

Her words, delivered in a hoarse rasp echoed around the chamber; and for just an instant, River closed her eyes. Remembered a leggy, lanky frame in a blue suit and trainers, dark eyes full of suspicion and tears.

"He's no prince," she muttered, eyes still squeezed shut.

"But you want him to remember you, no? You want him to save you, like you saved him?"

She _had_ saved him; time and time and time again. From danger and death and even from himself.

And this was her reward. Jailed, unable even to pick a lock and escape. Trapped in a database for who knows how long; living without him. Day after lonely day, with each heartbeat giving up the idea that he'd ever really loved her –because if he had, could he have knowingly imprisoned her? Again? – and wondering if he'd ever return to save her.

"No," River said through clenched teeth, opening her eyes defiantly. "I don't want him to save me. I want to save myself."

The Witch gave a little chuckle, tipping a final jar into the cauldron before stirring feverishly.

"Some things are beyond even me." She leaned close to the bubbling pot, inhaling the pungent fumes rolling out. "But I can give you some help with that Prince of yours." She filled a vial with a noxious-looking green syrup, rummaged around in her pockets for a silvery circle that glinted in the light.

"Take these. Drink the potion, and you will have the means to salvation. The mirror will help."

River looked at the items the Witch had shoved into her hands, eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Somehow," she said blandly, shaking the vial, "I don't think my problem here is really not having legs to walk on land. And what's the catch? There's always one. You never get something for nothing in a fairy tale."

The Witch's eyes glinted as she smiled, displaying a mouthful of yellowing teeth. "Funny and full of life and clever, too? Too clever for your own good, I think."

"You know me so well," River murmured absently. "But that doesn't mean I'm not correct."

There was something in the Witch's eyes, something that might be frightening and dangerous for someone _other _than River. But she could feel her hearts begin to beat faster in response, adrenaline flowing in her veins for the first time in seemingly forever, her fingertips and toes tingling with excitement.

"Well?" River demanded, feeling a tiny smile creep across her lips. "I'm sure there are rules to your little… gift."

"You're right," the Witch said softly, still watching her. "There are always rules, aren't there? So many, too many to even give numbers to. You'll learn most of them quite quickly, what you can and cannot do."

"And the price?" River persisted. "You want something from me."

The Witch licked her lips. "There's not much of you left, is there? Even that pretty hair of yours doesn't really exist anymore.

"I'll make a bargain with you," she whispered. "A life for a life. If you succeed, learn the rules and play your part; then you can go. And if you don't… you belong to me. All of you. Your memories. Your soul."

River frowned. "You want my memories?"

"What good are they doing for you? Are they making you happy here by yourself?" She looked up, an innocent smile on her face and eyes intent on River's.

"What's wrong, Melody? Don't you trust me?"

Any normal person would have backed away. Any normal, sane person would have run, screaming.

_She knows my name_, River thought suddenly, eyes narrowed as she took in the wrinkled little visage before her. _She knew it all along._

"You have a deal," said River calmly, tipping the vial up to her lips. "A life for a life."

She swallowed quickly before she could think too much; the bitter green syrup threatening to make her cry as it slid down her throat.


	4. Blank Verse

**Chapter 3: Blank Verse**

It was a long time before he finally opened the CD, inserted it into the drive on the TARDIS to check the contents. In fact, he'd spent a lot of nights twirling it around on his index finger, trying to make a choice.

Open it, or not? Yes. No. Yes?

The likelihood was that miserable little imp was trying to make a joke. A CD to rescue a Princess? Ha. That little green creature didn't realise he was trifling with a Time Lord. And the beings of Gallifrey were _not_ for mocking with ridiculous tasks.

Then again… he was the Doctor. Once, he'd practically _lived _for ridiculous tasks, for impossible possibilities.

And… had he ever backed down from a challenge before?

Yes, open it. No, don't even think about it. He twirled the CD around, faster and faster until the little plastic edges wore a visible groove into his finger.

Open it, open it, open it…

_Yes_.

He popped it into the drive on an impulse, rolling his eyes when he realised there was only one file on it. Encoded and encrypted, the file name a bunch of fragmented nonsensical letters that refused to open no matter what he did; and the Doctor grumbled as his fingers flew over the keys.

"Come on, then," he muttered. "I'm a genius with computers… so open up already; reveal your secrets."

There was a tiny beep, and a prompt appeared on the screen.

_Enter your password_.

The Doctor blinked in confusion.

"There is no password," he said, feeling ridiculous for stating the obvious to a computer. "That imp didn't give me one."

_Do you require a prompt?_

"Fine," he grumbled, clicking on the 'yes' button. "Prompt me, then."

_What do you miss most of all?_

He growled in frustration. What did he _miss? _What sort of ridiculous question was that? He missed... he missed _everything_. He'd _lost_ everything.

"Gallifrey," he typed quickly, that one word encompassing everything he didn't want to break down into individual components. Home and family and friends and the life he'd once had.

_That is incorrect._

"My life," he typed instead, making a little grimace at the screen.

_Password is comprised of a singular word. One more attempt is allowed. What do you miss most of all?_

The Doctor closed his eyes, fighting down the wave of desolation washing through him; and the silence of the TARDIS pressed in around him, making the solitude and loneliness he lived with as a constant companion almost unbearable.

"Laughter."

He didn't even realise he'd spoken out loud for a moment, until the sound of his own voice startled him into a wry smile. Impossible to put into one word everything he lacked. But right now, having the only sounds around him be the whirring of the TARDIS and his own voice made him realise... he might have found the answer.

Time Lords were different, not prone to display such extremes of emotion. They smiled: kindly, thoughtfully, cruelly... but he had to admit, sometimes he'd been rather taken by the childish charm of the human companions he'd had in the past. The sheer amount of noise they made: little _oohs _of surprise and wonder as they opened their eyes and looked around the Universe for the first time... and their constant laughter, whether out of humour or nervous fear.

Annoying, sometimes. But other times... comforting. Having them on board had meant that when he heard their reassuring clatter, he knew he was never completely alone.

Bemused, he typed in the word; feeling oddly rewarded when the screen opened onto a page of gibberish, effortlessly converting itself into text.

Fifty three eleven, two and five.  
A strand of gold connects  
to the pattern of threads woven in yesterday:  
Fifty seven, twenty eight  
Four and fourteen.  
The gift of life is given twice in benevolence and understanding  
Nourished -fifty one, two- by water of sorrow,  
all the while knowing that lost is not lost.  
To save what would be saved requires redemption  
and final honesty  
with a frame of the Impossible.

The Doctor sat back, staring blankly. Tapped the screen, gave it an encouraging little whack.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered. "A ridiculous task to save a princess... and all I've got is a little green guide and blank verse to help me?"

He almost missed the button at the bottom of the screen; a blue help button that began to pulsate as if to get his attention.

_Flash. Flash._

He ignored it; and it grew more frantic.

_Flash. Flash. Flash. Flash._

"Alright," the Doctor growled. "Impatient for a computer, aren't you?"

He clicked on the button, making sure to toggle the switch to turn on accept audio commands; and turned to face the screen.

"Help me," he stated, rolling his eyes at the absurdity of the situation.

There was an odd sound, a tinny squeak of interference; and he gave the screen another encouraging whack. Maybe using the hammer would help? But no; a moment later there was a hiccup over the speakers, and then a bland computerised voice.

"Who are you? Please state your identity for the record."

"I'm the Doctor," he answered curtly. "I gather that I'm the one you've been waiting for?"

There was a long pause; so long he could almost count his heartbeats as he waited.

"Yes," the computer said finally, crisp and impersonal as only a disembodied automated voice could sound. "I'm sorry for the confusion, Sir. What can I help you with?"

"I'm not a _sir, _just call me the Doctor. I've been told," he said bitterly, "that I'm supposed to rescue a Princess for my own good... but what I've got to do that is a few lines of bad poetry, a little green guide... and apparently _you_, as some sort of computer help."

"A Princess." The computerized voice was flat. "You are to rescue a Princess?"

"Don't know too much, do you? Yes," he said with exaggerated calm, "a Princess. Or a lost Lady of the Lake…no, sorry. A Lost Lady of a Pond… but that sounds ridiculous."

The computer was quiet again, although this time there was an ellipses blinking at the bottom of the monitor, as though it was thinking.

"So." He sneered at the screen, even though he knew there was nothing there to see him, "help me, then. What am I supposed to do with all this?"

Silence, again. He tapped his foot impatiently, crossed his arms as he leaned back to glare at the computer.

"Let's try this again, shall we?" Sarcasm dripped from his voice. "Do you want me to rephrase the question? What sort of help are you planning to give me? An explanation? Or maybe a description of the Princess. Make this worth my while."

The screen wavered, turning a fuzzy grey. "That," the computer said primly, "is not the sort of help I can give."

"Useless, the lot of you."

The grey screen turned red. He wouldn't have been surprised if sparks flew from the speakers.

"I repeat, that sort of help is not what I'm here for." Rare to hear a computerized voice sounding angry, but this one was succeeding. "I thought that you're usually rather quick at figuring out puzzles, Doctor. Or is your clever reputation all a hoax?"

"I'm brilliant at puzzles," the Doctor boasted. "But this one makes no sense. Talks about numbers and threads and gold. Am I looking for Rumplestiltskin? No, he's male. Too ugly to be a princess. And even if he was, I don't think I'd want to rescue him."

He swore the computer snickered. There was a little stutter of feedback through the speakers that seemed suspiciously like laughter; and he felt his lips quirking slightly upwards into something that felt tight and alien on his face. Once, he used to smile all the time. Before the Time War, before being so alone and so lonely. He'd felt for a little too long that there wasn't much these days for him to smile about... but still, hearing laughter from a computer lightened his hearts... and the expression on his face now was closer than he had been for a long, long time.

"I doubt that's who you are looking for." His computer was back in control, voice serene. "Rumplestiltskin isn't very good company, anyway. Why don't you read me the blank verse, though; let's see if it makes any sense."

If anything, it was more ridiculous this time around. He read it aloud, rolling his eyes at each sentence, then waited... for some sort of revelation. For some spark of explanation. He was just opening his mouth, ready to demand an answer, when the computer beat him to it.

"Coordinates."

He blinked. "What?"

"Coordinates." The computer sounded triumphant, almost smug. Idly, he wondered if it realised how special it was. It was rare, the day that the workings of technology triumphed over the mind of a Time Lord.

"The numbers are coordinates, Doctor. The first set are-"

"England." He managed to say it first, even as he quickly plugged in the numbers, released the levers and the TARDIS shot out into space.


	5. A Battlefield Stroll

**Chapter 4: A Battlefield Stroll**

River closed her eyes, pressing her fingers hard against her temples. Really, it was probably mind over matter. A headache was still a headache even if you lacked a physical head to hurt.

"Stupid," she scolded herself, still clenching her eyes shut to avoid looking at anything. "Stupid, stupid…"

_Take this_, the Witch had said, _and you'll have the means to salvation._

Would it have killed her to ask a few more questions?

(Possibly. After all, she_ was_ a little too much like the Doctor. A definite question means a definite answer; and River did tend to do her best when orientating from a state of grey.)

Still, a little warning might have been nice. A swallow of a bitter green liquid, a single glance into a mirror… and the Witch had faded away, her underwater lair becoming instead a room that River knew well; quite well, in fact.

Her bedroom on the TARDIS.

It hurt too much to wander, to see if it was a perfect recreation. She didn't _want _to know if there were bowties nestled among her ammunition, tweeds shoulder-to-shoulder with evening gowns. Couldn't bear to lie down and see if the sheets smelled of him; or if, even worse they'd smell of nothing at all.

She perched instead in an armchair, the mirror balanced on her lap as it reflected patches of grey and purple and blue, like waves of swirling smoke. Until it cleared and she saw… not herself.

Him.

River gasped and leaned over, her breath fogging up the surface of the mirror until she brushed it away with a quick swipe of her hand. It was him, the Doctor… but not _her _Doctor. No floppy hair or endearing smile and prominent chin.

Ears, instead. She stifled a giggle, tracing his image with the tip of one shaking finger. He'd traded that ridiculous chin she'd been so fond of for even more ridiculous ears, his smile for a scowl. But his eyes were still the same. Ancient… but oh, so tired. She could read his age in them… the hurt and unhappiness, the hint of self-destruction that lurked just below the surface.

Which him, then? River sucked in her breath, counting on her fingers just to be sure. The old man. The clown. The hims with all the hair… celery man, the magician and Mr Frock Coat. She nodded, decisively. She knew who she was facing, now. His 9th regeneration, fresh from the Time War. Lashing out, simply because he could. A man who was bitter and hurt and full of nightmares.

_And_, she mused as they talked, as her mind quickly puzzled through the poem he'd told her, _just a bit unpleasant_. She'd thought the 11th Doctor was hard work young… but this particular regeneration… oh, he was enough to drive her mad; and not in a good way.

* * *

Coordinates only let you travel in space. Ideally, you should have some sort of sense of timing as well... and embarrassingly for a Time Lord, he'd always been a bit _deficient_ in that area. (He'd never admit that, of course. It was always better to make people that that his habitual lateness was merely a quirk of eccentricity.)

So he was in England. It could have been the wrong century... but clearly, it wasn't. As soon as he opened the TARDIS doors, he spotted it. Wrapped only in a silky cloak of its own green hair, a knowing smirk on its face was his imp.

"Took you long enough to figure out the clues. Did you need some _help?_" Large black eyes glittered up at him, unnatural orbs of polished obsidian so clear that he could almost see his reflection in them.

"Why would I need help?" The Doctor sauntered casually outside, looking down to survey the imp.

"Even the best and brightest can only get by with a little help from their friends," the imp said sagely, nodding its head.

"Funny," said the Doctor, fixing it with a suspicious look. "Wouldn't have figured you for a Beatles fan."

The imp shrugged with a peculiarly boneless grace. "They get around, Doctor. So do I."

It could only have been moments they were standing there, but suddenly the Doctor realised that the air was heavy with a smell impossible to mistake. Fire and blood and death; and he wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Can I just say how nice it is, that you've given me coordinates for a battlefield?" he asked sarcastically, trying without much hope to avert his eyes from the bodies he could see lying on the ground ahead of them, to shut his ears from the agonized groans of the wounded and barely living.

"Maybe war follows you?" the imp asked, staring up at him. "Or maybe, because you needed to come here. There's something you have to do. Or see. Or…find?"

"A lost Princess on a battlefield?"

"No. She's not here. And these are really just the outskirts, if that makes you feel better?"

"Thanks, but no. Why am I here again?"

The imp let out an exaggerated sigh, before turning to walk away, beckoning with one imperiously crooked finger for the Doctor to follow.

"Brains work slower after nine hundred years, don't they? Stop complaining and walk. You're here, Doctor, because you need to be."

He followed the imp, skirting the figures on the ground and keeping his eyes glued to the sway of hair, memorizing the shape of its head and small shoulders to distract himself from what was around them.

"Why do humans always have war?" the Doctor asked, half to himself. "Why is everyone so set on death and killing? What purpose does it serve?"

"What purpose did the Time Lords have?" the imp countered. "Your lot weren't exactly immune to destruction."

"It wasn't their… our fault. It was the Daleks," he said bitterly. "They forced us into it."

"Did they?"

"Yes," the Doctor said vehemently. "The Time Lords wouldn't have gotten involved… they shouldn't have, at least. We were peaceful! All we wanted was to protect the galaxy. To preserve it against those who tried to destroy what had been."

"The mighty protectors, hmm?" The imp turned to give him a knowing look. "I think that even in those mighty, peaceful protectors, there might have been just a hint of selfishness and bloodlust. Humans are a descendant of Time Lords, aren't they?"

"A very distant one." He sounded disdainful and priggish, even to himself. "They might resemble us in stature, but their minds… devolved. We were far more advanced."

"How kind of you to say that!"

"You're trying to bait me into something," the Doctor snapped. "Whatever it is, I don't agree. There's no reason for war. There is always another answer."

"Genocide?" The imp's answer was quick and cutting, despite the softness of its voice. The Doctor flinched.

"If I had it all to do over…"

"Yes?"

"Never mind. You can't change your past. It doesn't matter what I might have done. Or might have tried. Who I might have saved."

There was something on the imp's face. A gloating satisfaction in its smirk contrasting with an unexpected softness of those glittering black eyes.

"Well, there's someone here in this war who needs saving."

"I thought," he said bitterly, "that you persuaded me into all this for some lost Princess who isn't actually here?"

"Did I say she was the only one worth saving?"

There was a gasp from a person a few yards away, a particularly loud one that caught his attention; and when the Doctor looked over he saw a lean figure in dark clothes, tight black hat pulled down on their head from which a few wisps of blond curls escaped. One hand was pressed to his mouth, trying to hold down disgust or fear –the Doctor wasn't sure which- as with the other, he systematically turned the corpses on the ground, scrutinizing each face for recognition before turning to the next.

"That's who you've summoned me to help?" the Doctor asked, turning back toward the imp. "A ninja?"

There was a long pause as the imp looked like it was listening to an internal dialogue, almost arguing with itself. And then, pale green lips twisted into a smirk, large black eyes stared unblinkingly at the Doctor.

"Sounds about right. Thought you'd love that."


	6. How to Help a Ninja

**Chapter 5: How to Help a Ninja**

She used to love her bedroom on the TARDIS. It was _hers_ -well, hers and his- and the first place she'd ever had in her life that was. (At least, if you didn't count her cell in Stormcage.)

But there was something prison-like about it now. River stood up, pacing in circles around the bed and trying to fight down her feelings of panic. Whenever she'd felt like this in Stormcage, she'd run. Found consolation through doing something, anything… But here, there was nowhere to go. Nothing she could do or even say, because after the Doctor had walked out the TARDIS her voice had stopped working.

At least she could see what was going on. Her fingers curled around the edges of the mirror, as she watched what was unfolding before her in a distorted point of vision half her size, as though seeing through a child's eyes. The Doctor; his sadness and desperation and self-loathing written across his face as he condemned death and war. She watched as he strode toward a lithe, slender figure in black on a battlefield, his head held high as each footstep squelched through muck and blood.

* * *

"Do you need help," the Doctor started to ask, when the ninja gave a decidedly high-pitched yelp.

"Sorry," he stammered in a lower voice, accent deep and rather determinately that of an English peasant. "You surprised me. I'm only here looking for someone."

"Well, I hardly thought you'd be out for fun," the Doctor said sarcastically. The ninja frowned at him.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "Which side are you for?"

"I'm…" the Doctor sighed. "I'm not part of your war."

"But you're here, so you must be."

"I'm not," he insisted. "I'm just…passing through. I'm not part of your war, I'm not part of any war…"

The ninja gave him an appraising look, one far too shrewd for an ordinary English peasant. The Doctor looked back at him, taking in the sharp nose and stubborn set of his chin that gave him character and the slanted grey eyes fringed in long, curling lashes the same dark gold as his hair. It was a strong face in total, strong and determined, rather than attractive.

"The look in your eyes says otherwise," he said flatly. "The look in your eyes says you've seen much bloodshed. Are you denying that?"

No, definitely not some ordinary English peasant. There was something about him…some quality to his speech and bearing. It might have just been his utter calm, surrounded by death and destruction; or it might have been something else entirely. The way he looked at the Doctor, as though nothing would surprise him.

"Alright," the Doctor agreed. "I won't insult you by pretending. I was part of a war… but not this one. It was a different one, far away from here."

The ninja shrugged, walking toward the next figures on the ground to check them. "I've lived through wars my whole life. Aren't they always the same? Lineage and hurt feelings, leading to blood and death?"

Wars for his whole life… he couldn't have been more than sixteen; a mere baby to a Time Lord, but certainly old enough for what the Doctor suspected this era was. 1470s, or thereabout. He seemed to have landed in the middle of the War of the Roses.

"They preserve the old order," suggested the Doctor without any enthusiasm for their conversation. "Or make the way to something new."

The ninja squinted up at him, from where he was struggling to turn over a body lying on the ground. "I can't tell," he said, "from your speech whether you are from the House of Lancaster or York. An adherent of the King or the usurper?"

"And I can't tell," the Doctor retorted, even as he leaned over to help, "what you are. You sound like an ordinary English peasant in the late 1400s when you remember you should… but you move like a dancing master and speak like the educated nobility."

The ninja snorted. "It doesn't matter what I am, only what I choose to do from here until the end of days."

"Scratch that," muttered the Doctor, "you talk like a philosopher. And I should mention, it doesn't matter to me what you are. I was just curious."

"So then, what are you? Rather; who are you?"

"Someone else, weary of war. You can call me the Doctor."

"And you can call me," the ninja paused, "Rory."

The Doctor frowned. "That's not a common name around here."

"I flatter myself that I am not common. There has been a Rory in our family for every generation, and my lineage harkens back to a King of the Celts." There was unmistakable pride in his voice before he frowned. "It is normally the name for the eldest son, but when my brother…"

Rory turned away, making a show of checking the next bodies and the Doctor knelt beside him.

"Another war?"

"Merely a skirmish. But he didn't come back, and so I am the only child left. Even my parents are gone now."

"It's lonely, isn't it?" the Doctor murmured. "Being the last."

Rory straightened up, giving him a regal look.

"It's freeing. I can be who I choose, even change my name if I wish. I can define myself now, I will _not_ be lonely... and I do mourn, knowing that my family are forever gone, but life is for moving forward, is it not? And I know," Rory paused, biting his lip, "rather, I have _hope _that despite how bad things seem, I haven't lost everything…"

The Doctor stared at him, seeing steel in the bottom of those grey eyes before he managed an admiring smile.

"You're a survivor, aren't you?"

"What are your other choices, Doctor, when you are the only one left?"

What were the other choices, indeed? The Doctor followed Rory, turning each body to peer into their face. It was messy work, bloody and gruesome.

Gallifrey couldn't have been like this, the Doctor thought, during the last days. Or, very likely it had been. He hadn't been on the ground, hadn't seen the ordinary people and victims. It was easy to ignore the casualty counts where there weren't faces involved… and to think that once upon a time, he'd travelled the universe, averted wars on countless other planets, saved whole civilizations; but when it came to his own…

He wished he'd been able to save them. He wished that he could have saved at least one.

Rory gasped, and the Doctor stopped wallowing in his own thoughts, looking sharply up at him.

"It's him," Rory whispered, kneeling beside the body of a young man. "I've found him. And he's… alive?"

The Doctor ran his sonic over him, scanning. "Unconscious, but definitely alive. Breathing, check. Leg wound; I'll bind that up for him. Internal bleeding, too…possibly a concussion to round things off. Lucky for him, his skull seems rather thick."

Rory didn't respond; he was too busy cradling the man's face between his hands.

"Anthony? Can you hear me? Can you wake up? It's me. Please wake up…please?"

The Doctor found he was holding his breath. Why exactly, he wasn't sure… he knew that Anthony was all right. (All right was an overstatement. He was alive, at least.)

But the Doctor found himself kneeling across from Rory, holding Anthony's other hand. Silently willing him to open his eyes…to say anything…

"It's getting dark," the imp said softly from where it was standing by Anthony's feet. "And he won't last the night, in case you're wondering."

"I wondered where you'd gotten to," the Doctor said. "Seems I turned around and you were gone."

Rory looked up at him. "What are you talking about? I'm right here."

"I wasn't talking to you, of course I know you're here. I was talking to…"

The imp was grinning at him, small, sharp white teeth glittering against green lips.

"Can't see you, can he?"

"No," the imp agreed.

"Looks like I'm talking to myself?"

"Let's be fair, Doctor. You do have a history of that sort of behaviour."

He bit back a snarl, then turned to Rory.

"Look, I can treat Anthony. Fix his wounds, give him something for the pain. But I can't do it here; need the sick bay in my ship. Don't worry, its close by… and then I'll give you a lift home. Or wherever you decide to call home in the future."

"Your ship?" Rory looked confused. "But we're miles from the water."

"Oh?" the Doctor said noncommittally. "Just as well, she's not really sea-worthy. Like a cat, doesn't like water too much." He reached over to pick Anthony up, staggering a little under his weight. "Heavier than he looks, isn't he? We're going this way. Come along, Rory."

He pushed at the TARDIS doors, grateful when they opened without an issue and walked in to lay Anthony flat on the ground. Rory followed him, eyes darting every which way around the room but not saying a word.

"Go on," the Doctor prompted. "Say it."

"What are you going to do for Anthony?"

"Ah." His smile faded. "Not what I was expecting. Hold on, I'll need…"

The computer spoke, almost as though it had been waiting for him.

"There are supplies in the medical bay for splints and bandages. There are painkillers in the drawer beneath the stabilizers."

"The _what_?"

The computer made a sound suspiciously like a sigh. "The blue buttons you never use."

"Ah, those. Thanks. You're being very helpful. Much better than earlier."

The sound that came through the speakers just then was definitely a sigh. The Doctor ignored it as he pushed a hypodermic needle into Anthony's arm, and began to clean and bandage his wound. The internal bleeding was more problematic; but happily, the technology he had on the TARDIS –and especially after the Time War– was far superior to anything Earth had from that time, or indeed would have for many more centuries.

"There," the Doctor said, scanning Anthony one more time. "Healed. Almost. Try not to let him get his brain scrambled again. That sort of thing is hard to fix twice in a row."

Rory was watching him with wide eyes, one hand still clinging to Anthony's.

"He's alright?" he asked. "You say it…just like that? He's fine?"

"Of course I say it like that," the Doctor answered. "What do you want me to do, throw you two a party and write it in the sky?"

"I think she was asking for more details," the computer interrupted in its clipped mechanical voice.

"He," the Doctor corrected absently.

"She," insisted the computer.

"She," Rory agreed, pulling off her hat and letting a mass of long blond curls spill out. A few strands clung to the wool, and she impatiently moved her head to free herself.

"You didn't say you were a _she_," the Doctor said, his mouth gaping as he eyed her up and down. He would have died before admitting that yes, once he looked she was clearly a she; and though her features were still strong and regal, that wealth of golden curls did certainly give her a girlish appeal.

"And how," he complained, realising that perhaps he needed a reason for why he was staring at her hair, "did you get all that under there? Is that hat bigger on the inside or something?"

"I doubt you asked," the computer said. Hard to tell; but he thought he sensed some rather smug amusement in its voice. "And jammed on tight enough, you can certainly fit that sort of hair underneath a hat. I would know."

"You're a computer," he snapped. "What would you know?"

"Enough…at least enough to register if someone is male or female. Unlike you, apparently."

"Shut it, you mouthy machine."

"You first, my dear unobservant Doctor."

"I'm not certain of what is going on here," interrupted Rory, eyes scanning from right to left calmly, "or who that other voice belongs to? But it is correct… you never asked if I was a woman. Would you have refused your help, if you'd known?"

"I might not have," said the Doctor, almost sullenly. "Alright. No. I wouldn't have. But maybe you tell me something? Who _are_ you, and who is he, and why were you looking for him?"

"I _was_ Elizabeth," Rory said. "I've told you, I choose to be called Rory now. I am the last one of my family; and that name was important to us so I will assume it. Anthony is my husband, and when he left on campaign the last time, I…" she paused, a faint blush stealing over her cheeks. "I have lost my entire family and everything that I once held dear. I refused to lose him as well."

"So you followed your husband into war," asked the Doctor. "You? A girl who -now that you're not being so careful of your speech- is obviously educated, gently born and probably can't even defend herself? Didn't even think of danger to yourself, rushed right in… why, exactly?"

Her blush intensified. "I love him."

"You love him." The tone of his voice made that entire sentiment sound disdainful."How is love a reason to do anything?"

Rory gave the Doctor a steady look, the rosy flush on her cheeks fading to make her look –if possible- even stronger and more serious than she'd seemed before.

"If you love someone, what _wouldn't _youdo?"

He found, suddenly, that he couldn't breathe. What a simple statement to make him speechless… make his hearts race and brain start computing overtime.

For some reason, he thought of Susan. Of seeing her the last time, locking the TARDIS doors behind her to give her the chance of the life she'd never have if she stayed with him. He thought of all his companions and assistants through the years, each and every one. How he'd felt about them, and what they'd felt for him…

"Humans," he muttered, walking away from Rory. "You're all so…why do you have to be so…"

"Because they are." The computer's voice was very soft, as though speaking only to him. "Capable of great feats for love. Everyone is."

"I'm not. But then I'm not human."

"You are."

"I said," the Doctor muttered a little louder, "that I'm not human."

"And I agree. But you're still capable of great things for love."

He grumbled. "How would you know?"

"Because…" The computer's voice went even softer. "Because once there were stories of a man, just like you are now. One who thought the world was better off without him. And he was wrong. He did amazing things for the places and people he loved."

"Pity I'm not him, then."

He'd almost expected a snappy comeback from the computer. A_ no you're not_ or a conciliatory _you could be_. But there was nothing; and in a way, he wasn't surprised.

"So," he said turning to Rory, "where are you two off to, then? Family home you'd like to go back to? I can get you there.

"Or I can bring you somewhere different. New name…want a fresh start also? Different country? Different time, away from war?"

Rory paused, biting her lip and thinking hard. "I don't understand what you mean about a different time… but we're English. We stay here. I'm not against a different part than where we left, though."

The Doctor pulled up a map of England on the monitor, considering where to leave them.

"Alright," he said finally. "Found you a nice little place there. Countryside. Very picturesque. You can try living the quiet life, stay out of trouble, find some peace… Might be nice, at that.

"I think," he murmured to himself, "I could even envy you if you do."


	7. Conversational Skills

_sorry; few days late getting this up - I've been a mess with something I *hope* is allergies. :-)_

* * *

**Chapter 6: Conversational Skills**

He went quiet after leaving Anthony and Rory, not even talking or humming to himself while he tinkered around with the TARDIS; and the silence was driving River _mad_. She'd tried talking to him, asking where he'd left them. She tried asking if he wanted help with the next part of the poem, if he was ready for the next set of coordinates… but he acted as though he couldn't hear her.

Frustrated, she slapped her hand against the mirror. It was bad enough that she had sacrificed herself to save the Doctor, and for her pains found herself locked away in a database. It was worse still, that she was now reduced to communicating electronically with an earlier version of her husband who didn't know her.

But then to just be hanging around like a ghost, with him not even acknowledging her presence or responding when she talked?

No. Not right, not at all.

It wasn't difficult to move around in the world of the Library, and especially not for her. Have a destination in mind, a little focus… and River stepped out of her bedroom and back beneath the waves to stand face-to-face with the Sea Witch.

"I think," River said in a calm voice, "that you have some explaining to do."

"Do I?" The Witch sounded amused. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"And I'm sure you do!" Her temper frayed and patience in tatters, River held out the little mirror to the Witch. Funny how she'd always been such a steady shot with a gun, but with this her fingers trembled until she was afraid she'd drop it.

"What is this? What have you done to me?"

"I've offered salvation."

River narrowed her eyes. "You've offered the Doctor the chance to save a Pond Lady, who he persists in calling a Princess. But you've offered me….what? The chance to watch him? To be unable to do anything to help him? I can't talk to him when he's outside the TARDIS, and now he acts like he can't hear me inside, either. And I can see him; but he never even sees me, not at all."

There was a look of brusque pity on the Witch's face. "He's never been too good at hearing or seeing what he doesn't expect. I wouldn't take that to heart."

She did though; and it hurt all the same.

"The fact remains," River said, "that I don't know what you expect. The Doctor has his mission to interpret a poem and save… me, I suppose. But I don't know what my role is in all this."

The Witch gave her an intent look. "What was your role with the Doctor? In the past?"

"I…" River hesitated. "We ran. We did things, had adventures. We saved people."

"And you saved him."

The more common knowledge was that she'd killed him; but River nodded.

"I did. In the past."

"Past, future." The Witch cackled. "I always get those mixed up." She turned serious again, reaching out to lay a shrivelled hand on River's cheek.

"Your role is what it's always been, Melody, when it concerns the Doctor. Just remember: there are rules to what you can and cannot do here…"

And then River blinked. She must have; because one moment she was in the Witch's lair, and the next she was back in her bedroom, staring blankly at nothing.

"Stupid," she mumbled, fishing the mirror out of her pocket to check on the Doctor, still at the console and watching layers of code dance across the monitor. Rory's hat was next to him; she must have forgotten to take it back when she left. "That was supremely unhelpful, you…witch."

_One more time_, River thought. One more try, to get him to talk to her.

"Earth to the Doctor," she called, trying to sound cheerful. "Come in, Doctor!"

He ignored her; but she was suddenly certain that he could hear her. _There are rules_, the Sea Witch had said. _You will discover what you can, and cannot do_.

Clearly; high up on the 'cannot' list was making the Doctor talk when he wasn't willing. Which was frustrating because he'd always talked, even that last time when he hadn't known or trusted her. He explained himself, he barked orders or made unreasonable requests, he mumbled about having a plan even when she knew he didn't; and in his quieter moments, he told stories or whispered jokes to make her laugh.

But, River reminded herself as she watched the defeated slump of his shoulders and his scowling profile, he's not that man, is he? He was still the Doctor -he'd always be the Doctor- but he wasn't _her_ Doctor. Not yet.

She brushed her fingers against the mirror, wishing she could reach right inside and pinch him. Make him talk. Or that she was able to touch the console and make it do something, anything…

The time rotor started to move; and River froze. Had she done…was that in response to…?

No; maybe there was a simpler explanation? There had always been a connection between her and the TARDIS. Perhaps death didn't matter with a link like they had; and the fact that she was in a computerized exile only helped.

In the console room, the Doctor was similarly frozen before he grabbed the monitor, grumbling in frustration about how he hated it when she took off like that with no warning.

"Don't even know where I'm going," he muttered. "It's like she has a mind of her own."

"She does," River answered, happy she had an explanation for that at least. "She's always done."

"You sound like you know the inner workings of my ship. She's _my _TARDIS...supposed to do what I say! And not take off for no reason."

He was responding to her again; and River gave a small appreciative sigh, mentally thanking his old girl for being on her side.

"I think," she murmured, "you'll find that she does what she pleases. Much like her Time Lord."

He gave a wordless grunt as he fiddled with the controls.

"And," River continued, well aware that she was baiting him, "I do understand of the inner workings of the TARDIS. I rather think that I might be more of an expert in those matters than you."

She couldn't quite understand his frustrated mumbles, but she caught enough words. Something about ridiculous machines and how he hated their complicity… and then the entire TARDIS fell silent. The engines shut off, the lights dimmed…

"No!" the Doctor yelled, smacking his hand against the console. "First you take off without warning, then you break down in the middle of nowhere?"

"Wouldn't you," asked River, "if you were the one being insulted and called ridiculous?"

"Fine, take her side."

"Always."

He looked up, suspiciously. "What was that?"

"Oh," she lied. "Nothing. I have an affinity for machines such as this one, that's all. You might try reconnecting the thermo-dynamic couplings, see if that helps?"

"The couplings," he bit out tersely, "are fine."

"So you say. She might think differently."

"I know," he groused, "how to fly my own ship."

_You really don't._ But she kept that thought to herself as she watched him fruitlessly waving the sonic, reconnecting wires and even resorting to using the hammer to smack at the console only to produce nothing. He sank down on the floor, not even bothering to maintain his angry grumbling anymore as he glared.

"Well then," River said brightly, "what do you plan to do with yourself? Are you ready now to take another stab at that poem? See where you're meant to go next, when the TARDIS is ready to cooperate?"

"No." His voice was curiously flat. "I don't feel like running around, saving anyone. And poetry… it's not my thing."

He was lying. The Doctor had always rather liked poetry; he was a sucker for any sort of word-play.

"We can have a little chat, then."

"You think I've nothing better to do than talk to a computer?"

"If you're hanging around in a busted ship, hovering in space? No, I suppose this would be the optimum time for a nice soak in the pool. Spring cleaning? I'm sure the TARDIS manual is around here somewhere. Or do you fancy a game of chess?"

He scowled, he grumbled, he muttered to himself. And then words exploded from him, in a bitter rage.

"What's the point?" he said angrily. "If you're so smart, computer, then tell me? What's the point of the poem, of trying to save someone I don't even know? What was so special about Rory and Anthony, anyway? What did I accomplish there?"

He was scowling; and River suddenly narrowed her eyes, stroking her finger over his image in her mirror. She couldn't see his face clearly, but then again, she didn't have to. The irritation and hurt in him was so obvious… and she remembered, very suddenly when he'd told her long ago about how he was after the Time War. How tied up in knots inside, how unhappy, how very very lost and miserable he'd been and he wasn't sure he'd ever find a way back to being alive with everyone he knew dead.

"I don't know," she admitted. "In a way, Doctor, I'm just as lost with this as you are."

"Helpful. Thanks."

A tiny spark of anger lit inside her, as it always did when he was being ridiculous.

"Did it hurt you," she demanded archly, "to help them?"

There was a long pause, and then a mumbled: "No."

"Do you think you shouldn't have helped them? Cured Anthony, helped Rory…" Saying that name hurt River a little. In that girl she'd seen hints of _her_ Rory, her Dad. The shape of her chin and cheekbones, the long lean figure.

"I never said that," the Doctor grumbled. Sometimes, she cursed their timelines. Just that name hurt her; but he was oblivious.

"I was sent there to do something or find something… and all I found was a stubborn woman who refused to give up on her husband. Who was willing to do something foolish and dangerous, just for him."

Despite herself, River found herself smiling. "Do you really find nothing to admire in a woman determined to survive and save the person she loves?"

He shrugged, choosing not to answer. But River saw the words he refused to say aloud just in the gentle way he picked up the hat Rory had left behind, the way he folded it reverently and placed it out of harm's way in the drawer below the stabilizers.


	8. Rith ar nós na gaoithe

**Chapter 7: R****ith ar nós na gaoithe **

_(Note: title is Gaelic, and translates roughly to 'run like hell') _

* * *

With how unreliable she was, sometimes it seemed that he was often in a busted TARDIS… but in the past, it had been him alone, or him-plus-a few companions who didn't know better.

Being in a busted TARDIS, stranded in the middle of space _and _having a very odd computer system chiming in like a backseat technician was definitely a first though.

"I've told you," the computer said, clipped electronic tones unctuous, "that the problem is the thermodynamic couplings."

"And I've told you that they're fine."

"Hardly. Why won't you take my advice on this?"

"Because," he said testily, "you're wrong, computer."

A sigh. "My name isn't computer."

"You haven't given me another one," he muttered. "Doesn't matter anyway. Because… see?" He wrenched up a handful of zilphed cables, pushing them by force into the cythron sockets. The rotor began to move in a spasmodic, jerky fashion; and the Doctor grinned triumphantly.

"Working. No thanks to you, computer."

The monitor turned a dark maroon, as though it was flushed with anger; and the Doctor grinned a little more.

"Now, now," he said, "don't get your circuits into a twist. Everyone is wrong sometimes…"

"Even you?"

He didn't answer. Far better to ignore such a question; indeed, even far better to input the next coordinates –Scotland- and leave behind the bitter thoughts the computer had brought up.

Once outside the TARDIS though, he met another annoyance. The imp, arms crossed and one foot tapping impatiently was waiting right beside the doors.

"Ah, look," said the Doctor, feigning surprise. "It's my little guide. Fancy seeing you here."

"Indeed. Fancy you seeing me."

"Of course I see you. Like a small green bad penny, you are."

The imp chortled. "Well, that's friendly."

"Oh, was it?" The Doctor tilted his head, eyeing his small green companion malevolently. "I meant it to be insulting."

The imp shook its head, long hair swishing with each shake. "I'm surprised you think you've nothing better to do than trade insults with me… You know, Doctor, you're running a bit late here."

"Those coordinates have no time stamp. And the TARDIS broke down…not my fault, is it?"

"You are remarkably blasé about time for a Time Lord. You're here for a reason, remember? There's someone who needs your help. And no; it's not your Princess. Not yet."

He grimaced. "_Another_ one who isn't that her? What are you, some sort of walking hotline for lost souls?"

"I found you, didn't I?" The imp grinned, its small white teeth looking razor-sharp. The Doctor snorted.

"Just because you're on some help-the-helpless kick doesn't mean _I _have to be."

"Doesn't it?" the imp asked distractedly. "I thought that was the point of you, Doctor? To make things better."

"I'm a Time Lord," the Doctor stated in a flat voice. "We watch. We don't interfere. Not to save anybody."

_Nor,_ he continued in his mind, _even to save themselves._

The imp giggled, a burbling little laugh that made him grit his teeth. "Are you sure you're a proper Time Lord, then? Maybe you're just defective."

There was no time to say anything, no time even for the Doctor to snap that this conversation was taking a ridiculous turn; because suddenly the imp stopped, tilted its head to the side as though listening and sniffed the air.

"Over there," it commanded. One small finger pointed to the trees, to a shape twisted on itself and nearly hidden by the roots. "That's who you have to help."

"There's nothing there," the Doctor muttered, taking a step closer and crouching down, squinting as he tried to see if there was anything human on the ground. All he could see was a shape, black and white… until his eyes focused and he realised it was a person. Pale thin arms wrapped around skinny legs and knobbly knees, a black cloak shielding his form and a dark head of curls that raised abruptly as the Doctor came closer. It was a pinched little face that looked up at him, thin and worried, with wide hazel eyes and freckles across his nose.

"You're just a boy," the Doctor said, surprised. At once, a look of injured pride flashed over the child's face.

"I am not," he retorted, drawing himself up to his full height, puffing out a skinny chest. The Doctor raised an eyebrow in amusement. Standing, the boy was barely taller than the imp, his voice still warbling between a childish treble and manly tenor.

"You are," the Doctor insisted. But he softened his tone, seeing the pale tracks of tears through the smudged dirt on the boy's face, the ragged shreds of pride that made his back straight and his chin held high.

"Who are you then," he asked. "Don't you have a home to go to?"

"There's no one at home," the boy whispered. His lips trembled, but he continued bravely. "There's my Mam and my sisters, I mean. But everyone else, they're here with my Da to fight the MacLaren clan. I'm supposed to be with them. It's my first battle, to prove I'm worthy of being chief someday. But I don't want- I mean, I want to be here- but maybe I'm a little…" He faltered, biting his lip, and the Doctor nodded. Understanding, even without the boy finishing the rest of his sentence what he was thinking.

_Scared._

"What's your name?" he asked. "You must have one."

"Angus." The boy hung his head, avoiding the Doctor's eyes. "It means exceptionally strong. My Mam says I was a fighter even as a babe. So I shouldn't feel the way I do right now-"

"You have every right to feel as you do," the Doctor interrupted. There was more that he wanted to say. There was more that he wished he could tell this child… that his instincts were right, there was nothing wonderful and glorious about war… and that he should run away from it, as far and as fast as those skinny legs could go.

"Don't you think that even the exceptionally strong get scared in war?" he asked instead. "What makes you strong, Angus, is that when something has to be done, no matter if you're scared or want to run away-"

His brain hiccupped, and he could picture himself back on Gallifrey. The Moment in his hands, the knowledge that he alone could end everything, end suffering, end war, and doom two races to extinction.

"You do what must be done," he finished, closing his eyes. "That's what being strong is. That's what being brave is."

"Never run away if you're scared?" Angus asked, still not meeting the Doctor's eyes.

"I might not say it like that," the Doctor said slowly, "but that sounds like a good rule to live by."

Angus nodded, peering shyly up at the Doctor with understanding in those wide hazel eyes. He nodded, once; seeming more like a man than the scared little boy he'd been moments ago; and the Doctor managed to smile.

"Do you know the way back to your father's camp?" he asked. "If you'd like, I'll walk you. I'm the Doctor, by the way."

"Pleased to meet you," Angus said. "The camp isn't far, just down that way. And I'd like the company… if you wouldn't mind."

There was something about him, this polite brave child that seemed so familiar; but the Doctor shrugged, gesturing for the boy to lead the way.

"I told Da I felt sick and I needed to be alone," Angus chattered as they walked. He flushed, bright red patches of colour in his cheeks. "He might have thought I ate something that disagreed with me."

"I doubt that," the Doctor mumbled; but he made sure to keep his voice quiet enough that the boy didn't hear him.

"Anyway, there's no fighting right now. In the next few days, Da said. So it was safe for me to leave."

Something about those statements didn't seem quite true. There was an odd hush as they walked, a cold unfriendly silence that seemed to shroud them, pushing and pulling until the Doctor felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"You're sure?" he asked. "No fighting now? Because something seems like it isn't right." He checked his sonic surreptitiously, ignoring Angus' raised eyebrow. No activity, nothing to read… but still, something didn't seem right…

And then the world erupted around them. People appearing from the trees behind them, shrill battle cries and blades flashing in deadly silver arcs as they advanced on the Doctor and Angus.

"Could you have gotten the battle times a little wrong?" the Doctor asked sarcastically as he pulled Angus behind him. He caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye, a raised arm and flash of plaid; and threw his arm up instinctively as a dagger flew past them, earning himself a swift slice through his jacket sleeve and a stab of pain.

"I'm sorry," Angus babbled. Even without turning to see his face, the Doctor could tell the boy had gone pale, and his voice was bright with fear. "I didn't know! Da said the next few days, I don't think we even had a look-out posted… and you're hurt!"

"I'm fine," the Doctor snapped. "I'm always fine." He wasn't; he could feel blood trickling down his arm, collecting in bright red beads at the end of his sleeve, and his whole arm was shrieking with pain but there was no point in actually announcing those facts.

"Come here," he said, reaching for the boy with his good hand and feeling cold fingers shaking inside his. "Don't let go, Angus. It's up to you to warn your father that the battle is beginning.

"Let's run."

And run they did. Fleeing in front of a screaming horde, they ran faster than the Doctor thought he'd ever run in his life, with Angus' hand damp and sweaty in his, pulling him left or right to warn him they needed to change direction. Neither of them had any breath to waste on words; but if the Doctor had been capable of any speech, he would have congratulated the boy on keeping up. Never faltering, never stumbling… when in fact it was _him _who stumbled. A rock hidden by a patch of uneven grass – his ankle turned – and down he went.

Instinct made him clutch the boy's hand tighter before his rational mind forced his fingers to relax. And the last thing he was aware of was Angus' gasp… and then the pain as his head hit the ground overshadowed even that of his arm as he sank into unconsciousness.

He woke a few hours later, lying flat on his back besides the TARDIS. Alone… or so he thought until a green face appeared over his; and the Doctor yelped.

"Ah," the imp said flatly. "You're back with us, then? I was afraid you were going to sleep the day away."

"Where is Angus?" the Doctor asked, rolling over until he could push himself into a sitting position, patting down his head, his torso to check for damage. "What happened to the boy? Where is he?"

"With his father, celebrating no doubt. He got back in time to warn them, and thanks to him the McCrimmon clan was victorious. The chief had them patch you up, and said to leave you here, you'd be fine when you woke up."

"Patched me…?" It was only then that the Doctor noticed the bandage. A scrap of plaid, tied tightly around his arm. "They came to battle with no proper bandages?" he asked incredulously. "Looks like someone ripped a piece off a kilt."

"They did." The imp nodded seriously. "That's a piece off the chief's very own kilt on your arm. I heard him tell the boy that ordinary linen wouldn't be enough thanks for your protection. You deserved something special for saving the heir of Jamie McCrimmon."

The Doctor stared at the imp, blue eyes into stark unblinking black, as he absorbed the most pertinent piece of information.

"Jamie McCrimmon?" he faltered. "The _son _of Jamie McCrimmon?" The imp tilted its head to the side.

"Maybe," it said primly, "that bandage would have been better suited on your head? Did you hit it _that_ hard? Or perhaps you're old and getting deaf?"

He ignored the imp's taunts, standing up and limping over to the TARDIS before he grinned.

"I knew Jamie," he admitted. "A long time ago. I knew him; he travelled with me, and his son…

"The boy was brave," the Doctor said, wonderingly. "Like his father. No matter if he was scared, he couldn't ever have been anything else."

"And he could run," the imp said blandly, surveying him. "It must be nice to save the child of someone you knew, to ensure the survival of that heritage. And it must be even better when that descendant is someone who can keep up with even you."

The Doctor nodded, fingers absently tracing over the tartan pattern before he stepped into the TARDIS.


	9. A Name without a Face

**Chapter 8: A Name without a Face**

"Well?" River asked, directing her words to the Doctor in her glass. "Any luck in Scotland?"

He shrugged, wordlessly; and she bit back her frustration. She knew what had happened, she'd _seen_ it through that disorientingly short view. She knew all about the boy in Scotland, the Doctor injured as they ran, Jamie McCrimmon –no longer the slight, endearing boy she'd heard about, but still charming though stout and middle aged- binding the Doctor's arm with a scrap of plaid, muttering how it must be him: who else would 'find' themselves in the middle of a clan skirmish and travel in a Police Box?

But she couldn't _do_ anything physical, she couldn't even talk directly. Everything came from someone else, all the words and actions. It was like being a passenger looking out the window on a bus. Utterly frustrating not to be the one in control, unable to even stretch out her hands to check his pulse as he lay beside the TARDIS, or grab his hand to pull him from danger.

But he was back inside now, awake and prowling around the console; and River found her voice unlocked. Which was well and good… except he was back to pretending she didn't exist. Wouldn't answer her questions, or acknowledge her…

"Right," River mumbled to herself. He might not be able to see her as… well, as whatever he saw that other form as. But he could hear her… and she'd be damned if he'd not even answer.

"Had a good time, then?" River asked brightly, determined to make him acknowledge her. "Go out for some haggis? Or was this merely a pleasant heather-picking expedition?"

She could see his profile, sharp featured and scowling. Still no answer; and she grinned. Pity for him that she knew him; knew that if she poked just right, needled him enough he wouldn't be able to prevent himself from shooting back a retort.

"Did you go native, Doctor? I would-" she let her voice dip low, dripping innuendo, "-_love _to see you in a kilt."

Still no response. He scowled harder, the tips of his ears turning a delicate pink. River moved in for the kill.

"Oh dear," she sighed dramatically. "I suppose you're one of those who wear pants beneath a kilt, aren't you? For shame, Doctor. That's not period at all; I thought you knew better…"

The Doctor turned to the screen. "I'm quite period," he snapped, "if I need to be. And this was not some berry picking-"

"Heather picking," River corrected cheerfully.

"Whatever!" He glared in indignation at her, and she grinned. He wasn't as angry as he was pretending to be. And she'd accomplished her task. At least he was talking to her now.

"So what did you do?" she asked in a softer voice. "Dash about, save the world? Grab someone's hand and whisper 'run!'?"

He shrugged. "Might have."

"You don't change, do you?" River said fondly. "Always the same Doctor."

"You speak as if you know me."

_I do._ She caught herself before she said it. She knew him alright; the light and the dark, his smiles and sullen frowns, his selfishness and selflessness. She knew him... better, perhaps than she knew herself.

"I know of you," she whispered. "The Doctor. Adventuring in his blue box, saving the world over and over again, jetting back out to the stars before he can hear a thank-you."

If she hadn't been looking at him, her eyes greedily absorbing every inch of his face, she might have missed the lost expression, the tightening of his lips and the stern set of his jaw.

"Perhaps you don't know me as well as you think. I don't do that sort of thing anymore." He snorted. "Saving the world… maybe it doesn't deserve to be saved; have you thought of that?"

She shook her head, amused by his petulance. Nice to see the things that transcended regeneration.

"If you say so," she said lightly. "Then tell me? If you don't save the world anymore, what _did _you do today in Scotland?"

He stared at the screen, face blank before he sighed; and River stayed silent. She'd learned a long time ago that sometimes, the way to manipulate her Doctor into talking was like fishing. Dangle a line, let him come to her, be patient until he took the bait.

Patience. Not a trait River Song normally possessed… but when it came to him…

She waited, holding her breath until he sighed again. Smiled wryly, shook his head.

"I didn't save the world today," he muttered, voice gravelly and soft, as though admitting a shameful secret. "It might have been just one boy." He sounded defiant, and River bit her lip to hide a triumphant smile.

"Sometimes saving one person, Doctor, is as important as saving them all."

"Is it, though?" He was restless, fingers caressing the levers and buttons on the console. "So I saved Angus. Does it matter? He was just a boy, and I've saved him so that he can continue in skirmishes with rival clans, or whatever more pointless days are ahead of him."

River hesitated. "Is life really that meaningless? Do you think so?"

"I don't know." The Doctor sighed, closing his eyes in defeat. "I didn't think so once. I thought there was something redeemable in every life… but I'm not sure, now."

She watched as he sat dejectedly on the floor, leaned his head against one of the coral protrusions.

"How good is your life, then?" the Doctor mumbled. "If a computer can have a life. Huh." He gave a little grunt of amusement. "Listen to me, talking to you as if you were real. I must be lonely."

She was filled with emotions, teeming up and almost choking her with intensity. Irritation from the gall of him (acting as though a computer-based life form was somehow deficient; when they'd been to the 43rd Century together and seen what that hybrid Android race was like) mixed with pity for how miserable he seemed, and a sharp desire to pinch him and tell him to stop brooding.

"I'm not just a computer," River said finally.

"No? Of course not." He sounded snide. "I bet you've even got a name, right? Have I been so unbearably rude as to not ask it as yet?"

River couldn't stand the mocking tone of his voice. "You have. And I do."

"So then! What is it?"

"My name is," she started to say, then stopped. She'd forgotten the Sea Witch, the knowing smirk and her warning.

_There are things you can and cannot say here…_

She couldn't tell him her name because he wouldn't know anyway. In his future, River Song would be important. But not yet…

Funny, but once she'd hated the thought of continuing her life without him having any idea of her, and so she'd sacrificed it all, thinking that at least she'd never have to live through that pain again. But now things had come full circle and she was again facing a Doctor who had no clue.

"You can call me," River murmured, "Threnody."

He frowned.

"_Nice_. What a name, Threnody."

"What's wrong with it?"

"Oh, nothing. Don't know why I expected anything different of you. My mouthy computer program, designed to help me save some lost princess is named for a lament."

It fit, though. A threnody was a sad song, a lament for what had past. And computer Threnody was only an echo of what River Song had been.

"I don't mock your name," River said primly. "_Doctor._"

"Guess you don't." He sighed. "Threnody, can you tell me with no double talk or 'I don't knows'… what am I doing here? Why am I being dragged into saving someone I don't even know, why do I keep being sent to..."

The Doctor paused, obviously steeling himself for the next words. "I'm sick of this," he admitted in a shamed voice. "_War_. I'm sick of bloodshed and fighting and death and destruction."

"I know."

"No you don't know; how can you? Feeling like your hands won't be clean. I've the bloodstains of an entire world on me. It's not just the Time Lords; it's all the others too. The ones who came to help, the ones who weren't even involved but still died for the sake of what we were fighting for. I can't ever fix that, can I?"

She didn't know what to say for a moment; and River twisted her fingers around each other, watching his face in the mirror. Despair and self-loathing in his eyes, a bitter smirk on his lips. It wasn't as though she'd never seen him unhappy before. She had; but not like this, when she couldn't even offer him the comfort of an embrace.

"What do you want to hear, Doctor?" she asked in a soft voice. "The truth? It'll always hurt to remember what you couldn't fix. There will be days yet to come for you, when you sit and think of all those you couldn't save. When you count them up and mourn for the lives that were lost."

He blinked his eyes hard, keeping back the tears she could see glittering in them. "So what am I doing, then?"

"Maybe," River said tentatively, "atoning, in the only way you can? You can't fix the past. But you can change futures… rescue those who need saving."

"Like that Princess, hmm?" The Doctor raised his head, his smirk still fixed in place. "I can figure out how to save her, whoever she is. I wonder what war she's trapped in."

River closed her eyes. "Not every trap has to do with war. Some are bloodless and kind; but even more miserable."

There was a long pause; and River opened her eyes to see the Doctor staring… it felt like he was looking straight at her, actually seeing her for a moment.

"Tell me about one of them."

"Tell you about… what?"

"About," he shrugged, "about a trap that's not a war. Where everyone is saved at the end, and everyone is happy…"

She stared. "Are you asking me to tell you a story? With a happy ending."

"What's wrong with that? Everything is just a story in the end; so tell me a good one. Give me hope that tomorrow I'll go out and look for that Princess again, and maybe everything will be fine. And maybe one day it'll stop hurting, all the people I couldn't save.

"I thought," he yawned, closing his eyes and snuggling against the coral, "that you're supposed to be my _help_ in all this? A story would help."

River snorted. Nice to see the things that transcended regeneration. Her Doctor had always been capable of making ridiculous requests seem reasonable… and, a sucker for a good bedtime story.

"Did you ever hear the one about a fish named Jim? It's quite a tale… no pun intended."

She had the pleasure of seeing his smile, free and unguarded, flit across his face for the first time since all this had begun.


	10. A Digital Scheherazade

**Chapter 9: A Digital Scheherazade**

'The more things change, the more they stay the same' is how the old saying goes; and there were times that the Doctor realised that he was as caught in that adage as everyone else.

Because things _should_ have been different. Once he'd been a Time Lord, one of many. He'd borrowed a ship, gone for a little wander of the known and unknown, found himself on thousands of different galaxies and universes with Companions by his side. He'd found adventure and intrigue at every turn, he'd indulged that little instinct inside of him… that little niggling base desire that everyone has deep down, where they long to play the lauded hero.

But then there had been the Time War, and on the surface, it changed everything. He wasn't one of many, anymore; he was the last… and his jaunts around the Universe smelled suspiciously of running away.

Yet there was a certain sameness for what had been and what was now. Because he still found himself wandering with a Companion –albeit a small green imp instead of a normal pink human- by his side, and still found himself embroiled in adventure and intrigue.

And yes; despite his firm protestations that he didn't do that anymore –save the day, be a hero– perhaps he did often find himself doing just that. He was there the night Krakatoa exploded, and ruined his favourite jacket pulling people to safety. He spent some time in Southampton at the urging of Threnody (who'd suggested that a nice trip to the seaside might do him some good) and found himself embroiled up with the Daniels' family, posing as the absent-minded butler who lost the tickets for their ship to America and paid from his own pocket to get them on another that left a few weeks later.

(And when the news of the sink of the Titanic shook the world, and the Daniels' realised how close their demise had been; there were grateful tears and fervently whispered thank you's that provided the barest sense of peace in his hearts, just for a moment.)

He wasn't a hero, the Doctor thought as he stood in a crowd of people cheering and jostling him with knees and elbows in unspeakable places. He couldn't be, not after Gallifrey; but Threnody's words echoed in his mind sometimes… that doing what he was doing, saving people. It would never fix things. But maybe, it helped him atone for what he'd destroyed.

Except here, unable to do anything except watch as JFK collapsed, it wasn't always easy to remember that.

"_Why_ did you go?" Threnody asked later. For a computer, she could sound remarkably peevish when she was addressing his faults. "It's a fixed point, Doctor. Nothing you could do."

He shrugged. "Listen to you, sounding like a nagging wife! Telling me what I should and shouldn't do…you'll be reminding me to wipe my feet and put out the trash next."

There was a loud protest of interference through the speakers that sounded rather like indignant sputtering; and the Doctor hid a grin. He'd learned in the past weeks that he actually had fun annoying Threnody and hearing her responses.

"Maybe," she hissed, "you don't need a nagging wife, but a sharp slap sometimes!"

"Ooh, you're into that; are you?"

For that remark, he was treated to thirty seconds of a high pitched squeal that made him wince and scramble for the volume button.

"Thought maybe I could've," the Doctor admitted, once he'd managed to turn Threnody's angry wail down and massaged his ears. "I know it's a fixed point. Not worth tearing the Universe apart..."

But it was intoxicating, in a way. Redeeming himself through saving people. When the Daniels were safe he'd felt his hearts lighten for a moment; and they were only a normal family with normal lives. But imagine how being the one to avert history and save JFK would've felt? A high like no other.

"Have you forgotten your Princess?" Threnody asked. There was always a pause, before she used that title. As though she was reluctant to.

"No, I haven't forgotten her," he sniped. "Just been busy. She's holding."

"She certainly is. Waiting for you to come save her."

"Is she in danger?" he asked. "What happens if I don't get there right now?"

There was a very long pause, and then Threnody sighed.

"Nothing," she admitted. "Nothing will happen to her. She'll just keep waiting, that's all. Losing hope."

* * *

_Losing hope_ weren't the right words to use; and River knew that. _Getting exhausted_ would've been closer. _Wondering when he'd hurry up, already_.

Yet she couldn't fault him for the trips he took now, searching for other things to do and people to save (even if they weren't poem-mandated). For one thing, she was with him on each one. Trotting alongside, looking out from that oddly foreshortened view…though she still couldn't come to terms with not being able to speak or move. It was difficult; she'd always been so physical that just _watching_ events unfold was misery.

And, too, he talked to her now when he returned to the TARDIS every night; instead of at her like she was a thing. He'd tell her about the people he saw and things he'd done, the places he'd always thought of going and maybe would in the future. In turn, she talked to him as well. Suggested places for him to visit, slipped in little titbits of history or the pointless trivia that she knew he loved.

She hated it –the waiting- but she could be patient. Because every day she saw him become less bitter, less angry; more positive and thoughtful and _alive_ as he shook off the horrors of the Time War.

He was becoming her Doctor again; and she could wait a little longer to be rescued. No need to abandon hope yet.

"I'm tired," he murmured suddenly, interrupting her thoughts. She watched as he sank down against the console, pulling his jacket over his torso like a blanket. His face was relaxed, dark spiky eyelashes fluttering closed; and she felt a little surge of love sweep through her at seeing him like that.

"And here I thought Time Lords didn't need sleep," teased River, leaving the armchair she usually perched in to climb onto the bed. She pulled a pillow into her arms, resting the mirror on the top…it was a poor substitute for actually having him with her, but the best she could do.

"We don't need sleep." He sounded petulant. "But sometimes we like it. That's very different than _needing_ anything, Threnody."

She chuckled, wishing -as ever- that she could reach out to stroke a hand over his forehead, press a kiss lightly on his lips. It was times like this that she missed being with him; because in her past and his future, he'd been the same way. Curling up at her side and resting his head on her shoulder, lazily twisting her curls around his fingers and asking: '_tell me again why the locals on Beta 6 think you're a Goddess? It's the hair, isn't it? Must be_.'

After the running was done and the adventures were solved, he was always like that. Peaceful and snuggly; almost like a drowsy child listening to a bedtime story. She almost had to wonder if that very out-of-characterness she'd always wondered about him had its roots here; her Ninth Doctor listening to Threnody at the end of his day.

"Are you there, Threnody?"

"Always, Doctor." She made her voice soft and soothing, smiling as he stifled a yawn. "I'm always here when you need me."

"Nice." He didn't sound sarcastic, though. More wondering. As though he'd doubt anyone's devotion to him.

"Tell me a story? A good one, this time."

"They're all good, Doctor."

He scoffed, with a bit of that attitude she had become so familiar with. "No, they're not. Sometimes you tell me boring histories."

The problem was that there were so many things she couldn't tell him. Any story that had to do with him or his future. Anything that mentioned River Song, especially; because even now, they still lived with spoilers hanging over their heads. The Sea Witch had been right. There were rules –there were always rules- and she couldn't risk telling him of anything he might recognize in the future, and possibly change.

So she told him fairy tales. The normal ones at first: Sleeping Beauty and Snow White, Pinocchio and Cinderella. And then she'd started telling him the odder ones. The Girl who Trod on a Loaf. The Wild Swans. Jorinda and Joringel- though he'd mocked that one unceasingly. A girl turned into a nightingale and kept in a gilded cage, a boy searching for a magic flower that would turn her back into herself and break the spell… she couldn't bear to tell him that it bore a certain resemblance to their own situation.

"They are good," River repeated, brushing her fingers over the pillow and imagining she could feel his skin beneath hers, warm and fragrant. "All stories are."

He made a little grunt of disagreement. "There are strange and amazing things out in the Universe, Threnody, and strange and wonderful people that go with them. How's about you tell a story with them, instead of things with insects crawling on people's eyes, or making shirts out of nettles…"

"As you wish," River murmured, unable to resist teasing. She thought for a moment, of what to say.

"Once upon a time," she began, "there was a Princess with long golden curls locked in a tower. Now, you should know that she wasn't your normal sort of Princess from the storybooks. You know the type: the slender girls in long pink gowns who drip grace and charm with every gesture, and spend their lives attended by bluebirds and sentient teapots and seamstress mice."

"Let me guess," the Doctor interrupted. "_This_ Princess is the clever, stubborn type. Someone who is wilful and selfish, but occasionally selfless enough to save the people she cares about?"

"Well… something like that. And one day, she did something that might have been brave, and was definitely a bit stupid… but she thought it was for the best. And then she woke up in a tower, and was waiting for her Prince to save her."

She could see the Doctor's entire frame tense. But he didn't open his eyes, didn't ask any questions; even if River knew he was smart enough to understand, without her having to spell out why she was telling this story.

"Now, if she wasn't your normal Princess, he most certainly wasn't your normal Prince. He could be a bit rude and overly dramatic, and sometimes –alright, often– talked too much. But he was clever, and," she smiled, "_hot_. And she loved him; and so she waited…"


	11. The Passage of Time

**Chapter 10: Passage of Time**

Yes; she was waiting for him, and trying to be patient in doing so. Still, it was an itchy feeling, akin to having an uncomfortable tickle between your shoulder blades that you were unable to scratch. The definition of River Song was _doing,_ not talking. That had always been the Doctor's domain and she'd always felt that she could never match his abilities of persuasion and sheer loquaciousness… and yet it seemed, that's what she was doing here.

"I've been looking for you," said a small voice, and River looked up to see Charlotte standing uncertainly in the doorway of her bedroom.

"I've been right here," she told her, putting the mirror down and coming over to give the child a hug. It surprised her, the intensity with which Charlotte clung to her. She'd always been so independent before.

"What's wrong?" River asked, tipping the girl's face up. "I know something is."

"It's nothing. Not really. I just missed you… it seems like everything is confused lately." Charlotte put her hands up to her temples, small fingers buried in her thick brown hair. "Inside my head, I'm confused. Doctor Moon says I'm fine, but I still feel…bad."

She gulped, resting her head against River's shoulder; and River stroked her hair, trying to figure out what was really wrong. There had been little time between finding out the secret of CAL and the memory transfer to think about it; but since arriving in the Library, River had wondered privately if the Lux's had really had Charlotte's best intentions in mind when they created this database. On the surface it sounded wonderful… they had given her the chance to live past her too-brief human lifespan, to read and live in any book or era that had ever or would ever exist.

Except that everything has its time, and everything dies; and occasionally she wondered if, given the choice after so many years, if Charlotte would want to be free. Some blessings are really curses in disguise… and she wondered if anyone ever considered that the little girl with the face and thoughts of a child and the eyes of an old woman might have preferred to know that one day, she too will have an ending.

"Maybe you're just a bit lonely," River said, kissing the top of her head. "How long have I been in this room? Never mind, I know you can't tell me-"

"It has been eight months, three weeks and two days since I've last seen you," Charlotte said automatically. "By Earth standards."

River stared at her, mouth falling open in surprise. "You've never told me how long I've been here before," she said in a shaky voice. "You've always refused."

"You were always unhappy before," answered Charlotte in a monotone. "It would have hurt you to know."

"And I'm not unhappy now?"

Charlotte tilted her head to the side, peering at River with those wise, ancient eyes. "Not completely. I can tell that there's something inside you now that's different. As if you have…hope? If that's the right word."

"It's not completely accurate," River murmured. She glanced into the mirror at the sleeping Doctor, curled up tightly into the foetal position and making little mewling snores. "But I suppose that word is good enough."

* * *

She felt guilty about abandoning the other residents of the Library, even though she knew that only Charlotte would really appreciate the passage of time and how long she'd been away. Still, shame was a great motivator. So she stopped in to see Miss Evangelista, the Daves and Anita, exclaiming over how their children were growing and how wonderful their lives were. She helped Josh and Ella dress appropriately for a romp in the countryside of Prince Edward Island, smiling at a nearly unfamiliar-looking Charlotte in her puffed sleeves and long red braids. And then -when they pestered that she'd not picked something of her own- they took a trip within the pages of Enid Blyton. There was something almost comforting to find herself playing the part of a naughty schoolgirl again… after all, she had an aptitude for it. Mels had been excellent practice for such a role.

But she felt strange now. The uneasiness she'd always had in the Library -that sense of _wrong wrong wrong_ at being in a place where even the concept of time was irrelevant- felt worse than ever, and she wasn't sure why. Surreptitiously, she checked the mirror every so often to see if the Doctor still slept or if he was awake, outside the TARDIS and adventuring.

"River," Charlotte said, interrupting River's thoughts, "Ella wants to visit the Tin Soldier. Won't you come with us?"

"I'll meet you," River said absently, tucking the mirror back into her pocket. He was awake now, drinking tea and shaving at the same time; and not even thinking that the incompatible nature of those two things could be why he kept nicking himself.

"You won't." Charlotte had a fierce pout on her face. "I can tell you're planning to leave again, aren't you?"

River reached her hand out to stroke the girl's hair; but Charlotte ducked away from her, disappearing as she darted within the storybook. With a muffled swear River followed her, emerging not on the toy shelf as she'd expected but in the dark world of the Sea Witch's lair.

Silly her, becoming more and more like her husband each day. She'd always teased him when he made the excuse that his head was full of stuff after a thousand years, no wonder things got confused…and yet, here she was, making the same mistakes.

She'd forgotten that the Tin Soldier was another of Anderson's tales. And if she'd remembered, she might have been more careful about diving into those pages.

"Well," the Witch said with a little cackle of laughter, rubbing her hands together with an avaricious glee, "look who has come to visit! I'm so pleased to see you, my dear."

"That makes one of us," said River. "And I think you're channelling the wrong story with that thing you're doing with your hands. I don't think Anderson conceived that; it's much more Ebenezer Scrooge than Sea Witch."

"Oh, I _have _missed you! That pretty hair and that sense of humour…"

"Yes, that's me," River drawled, trying for a sense of bravado. "So much humour that normal hair couldn't sustain it."

The Witch laughed in genuine amusement before turning serious, walking slowly and carefully across the room. River fought the urge to step backwards.

"I'm happy to see you," the Witch said, "because I'm wondering how you're doing with our little… deal? You haven't forgotten it, have you?"

"No," River said, feeling rather snippy. "How could I forget such a thing?"

"Because I expected you to be talking to your Doctor, not running around in here with the children. Have you stopped caring if he saves you?"

"Of course not. But the Doctor…" River sighed. "If you knew him the way I do, you'd know that sometimes you can't push him."

"Oh, really?" The Witch raised an eyebrow.

"Really. You can make suggestions, or help him correct things once they've gone wrong; but he's always going to do what he wants, in his own time, and you fit what you need into that."

"Sounds very selfish of him," the Witch murmured, taking another step towards River. "Don't you get frustrated?"

She had, when she was younger. In those days before they really knew each other and had perfected their banter-and-action duo; there had been plenty of angry flare-ups and storming away from each other, bitter words on his part and angry slaps on hers. Falling in love had been quick, learning to trust each other had taken longer; but once they did…

"No," River said, stubbornly clinging to what she felt. "You take people as they are. Good and bad."

"You accept him, even now? Faults and all…like he accepted you?"

River bowed her head, remembering him on the shores of Lake Silencio. _You are forgiven; always and completely forgiven._

"Yes," she muttered, hoping her voice didn't waver. When she looked up, the Witch was smiling a very secretive sort of smile.

"How lovely to hear that. Such loyalty and devotion in you… but still, you're _here._ We had a deal, you and me. A life for a life, I told you. If you learn the rules and play your part…" The Witch tittered, and River rolled her eyes in response.

"You know," she said conversationally, "if you want to be truly menacing, you should stop that giggle. It doesn't fit."

"Now, who said I was menacing?"

"Well, you do make our deal sound like a threat."

"Do I? Perhaps you've misheard me?"

River paused. "No, I think I didn't. And you didn't put a timestamp on it; would be hard to do that, here. So I'm doing just fine with the Doctor. He's gone to two of the places from that poem…"

"Ah, yes. The poem." Dark eyes glittered at River. "He's gone, but has he gotten what he needs? And there are more than two places mentioned in there. More miles to go before he sleeps, don't forget that."

"I hardly could. But thank you," River said, channelling the Doctor at his most sarcastic, "for your concern."

She had turned to go, when the Witch's whisper caught her.

"You're wrong, you know."

River stopped, mid-step. "About?"

"You say you know the Doctor. But how well do you really know his history, and what happens with him at what times in his life? I might not have specified a timestamp, but it's March 2005 now. Busy time on Earth, especially for those who work at a certain London store…?"

River spun around in horror, the pieces falling into place.

"But you never said-"

"If you know him so well, why would I need to? The Doctor does things in his own time, yes… but what happens when there is someone else there to share his attention? How much do you think he'll care about saving someone he doesn't even know when there are better people to save and a real person to impress, not just a computer to talk to when he's lonely?

The Witch smiled, reaching her hand out to River. "You've seen his future, Melody. Did he ever mention any of this? Do you think that he'll even remember Threnody in a few years, or wonder why she disappeared…?"

She ran; the Witch's mocking laughter echoing in her ears as she tried desperately to focus on her bedroom, pulling the mirror out of her pocket and hoping she'd be on time.


	12. A Traitorous Act

**Chapter 11: A Traitorous Act**

She wasn't.

He'd been running in and out of the TARDIS all day with only mutters of 'I'm busy, I'll explain later' to appease her confusion; but the last time, he dashed in breathless, as though fleeing from screaming villagers.

And, he had a plastic head beneath his arm.

"Doctor?"

"Shut up, Threnody, I'm busy."

"Building yourself a new boyfriend?" She couldn't help her sarcasm. He grinned.

"You know what they say: life in plastic, it's fantastic!"

River burst out laughing, despite herself. "Try dating one of them. Swappable heads does keep everything fresh."

"Down, girl! Though, hmm… the Adventures of Plastic Boy and Cyber Girl. I think you can tell me that story later."

"You didn't enjoy hearing it the first time around." And then River clapped her hand over her mouth, mortified.

_Spoilers_.

Luckily, he didn't seem to have noticed.

"Doctor," she said, "Can we be serious for a moment? Because I need to talk to you."

"Still busy, Threnody. Nestene Consciousness, trying to overtake London."

She had a sinking feeling in her stomach. "It's about your Princess. Doctor, you have to listen-"

"And I said, not now!"

The TARDIS doors burst open and a girl ran in. River gasped, feeling like her breath was caught in her chest.

She knew her. Of _course_ she knew her. His description had been very thorough, the TARDIS had pulled up pictures for her; and once –though she'd never told him- she'd gone to Henrik's to shop and simultaneously catch a glimpse of his Rose Tyler.

But now she had the opportunity to examine her at closer detail. Young, very young and pretty with an air of panicked calm. Surprisingly loyal –considering River knew what would later happen- to her melting boyfriend's head.

_(Mickey_, River reminded herself. She knew him too…in his future she would run alongside Mickey and Martha when hunting Sontarans and have quiet evenings at their home; laughing and talking and dandling the baby on her knee, while the Doctor played football in the garden with the older boys.)

But she could only watch now, as the Doctor and Rose whisked away outside the TARDIS, racing along Embankment toward the Eye; leaving her alone with her frustration and anxiety.

* * *

He returned to the TARDIS alone. Shut the door after himself with an air of finality, walked in a complete grump to the console.

"Doctor," River began, but he wasn't even listening.

"If I offered you the chance to go anywhere, would you go?"

_With you? Yes. Always. _The temptation to say just that teetered on River's lips; and she hastily forced the words to stay in.

"I suppose," she answered instead. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I offered that girl the chance. Rose, she said her name was. Rose Tyler. I offered her the chance to travel with me, and she said…no?" The Doctor looked confused. "I didn't think I'd ever want anyone else here, but she… she was fantastic back there, she really was. She actually saved _me._"

He sounded awed, and River clamped down on that little fission of hurt that had sprung up in her hearts at his words. They'd had a rule, the two of them. No jealousy of past friends and loves; because really, living as long as they had you just couldn't harbour those types of feelings. So, she wasn't jealous of what she knew his future to be with Rose.

But perhaps it stung a little. She was far more used to being the one who saved him, the one he talked about with wonder in his eyes and awe in his voice.

"That's too bad," River murmured, trying to sound sincere because she knew that very soon, Rose would in fact run away with him. "Did she have a good reason?"

"No time," grumbled the Doctor. "Responsibilities. For her Mother and that useless boyfriend Ricky."

"Mickey," corrected River.

"Whatever. He's still an idiot."

He grumpily flicked switches on the console, checked the monitor, and River took a breath to get the courage to say what she wanted to.

"Doctor, I wanted to talk to you earlier? About your Princess."

"I'm not taking other people on the TARDIS, even if she's worried about them. Just Rose. I bet she'd like to see the future, she looks like that sort of girl."

"Doctor," River said a little louder, "we need to talk about your Princess, and what else it says in the poem."

"Or maybe," the Doctor said thoughtfully, "I should invite her out to dinner, as a thank-you. We can go to Venice. There's a great little restaurant in the Twenty-first Century that makes the best _spaghetti al nero di seppia_… I bet she'd be adventurous enough to try it…and I'm getting hungry just thinking about it. What do you think, Threnody? Would you go for something like that?"

River groaned. She'd forgotten something else about the Doctor that transcended regeneration: he had an amazing ability to distract people when he didn't want to do something. It was almost a pity for him that she knew him well enough to avoid being dragged into his tangents.

"I wouldn't know," she said stiffly. "I don't eat."

"Ah…" He looked embarrassed. "Yes, sorry, forgot about that. Spaghetti would wreak havoc on your circuits."

"Doctor. The poem?"

"It can wait," he answered with a shrug.

"It can't." She felt like she was pleading with him… no, she _was _pleading with him. And before her eyes, she actually saw his mood change, from one blink of an eye to the next. He'd been rather forcedly cheerful; and now, suddenly, was almost bristling with rage.

"You said," he snapped, "that the Princess is holding. Well, she can hold a little longer, can't she? I wish that you'd be helpful for a change, Threnody, give me some useful information."

"I'm always helpful!"

"You're not! Because if you were, you could have told me by now. Who is it that I'm trying to save? And why do_ I_ have to do it? Where in the Universe is it written that it has always got to be me?"

Anger came over her, so strong that her vision actually filmed over red for a moment. "Because you're the Doctor! Because that's what you do, you save people! And her… you have to save her because- because-"

River stammered, her words abruptly failing. _Because you promised that you'd always be there to catch me. Because you are the reason I'm here. I saved you, but you've always saved me in return._

"Because she can't do it by herself," she finished lamely. The Doctor made a face.

"That's not my problem."

"Isn't it? I thought," she faltered, "that you've been trying to save people? What have you been doing all this for, if not that? Why are you being so ridiculous now, refusing to help her, refusing to even talk about the poem-"

"I don't need to talk about it." His voice was emotionless, and he turned away from the monitor. "I've a good memory. 'Fifty-one, two; the gift of life is nourished by the water of sorrow'…and what do you think that's supposed to mean, hmm? Because I think whatever is waiting there is just another warzone."

_And I'm sick of war. I will run as fast and as far as I can, if I can avoid war and bloodshed._

He didn't even have to say those words. River knew he was thinking them.

"You can't know that," she murmured. But she had to admit, he certainly could be correct given what the past coordinates had led him to.

"You're right," the Doctor said. "I can't. Look, I said I'd save her, and I will."

"Eventually, and on your own time?" She couldn't say that she expected anything different from him, but she couldn't help feeling a little bitter. And perhaps, a little worried. Never mind him saving her; there was also the bargain with the Witch weighing on her mind, now.

"This," boasted the Doctor, patting the console, "is the best ship in the Universe. Don't worry, Threnody. The Princess will hold a little longer, and I can always go back in time to help her…"

He looked up suddenly, his face animated. "Time. I didn't tell her…thanks, Threnody."

"I didn't say anything-"

"I'll be back later," the Doctor said, reaching out almost nonchalantly to turn the volume button on the speakers to mute, and then hesitantly eject the CD for the first time since he'd put it in, months ago. He held it for a moment, feeling like a traitor before he gently placed it down on the console and turned to walk toward the doors.


	13. An Absence of Words

**Chapter 12: An absence of words**

There was no one quite like Rose Tyler, the Doctor decided. He'd had dozens of companions in the past whom he'd cherished for who they were and what they did; but she was funny with an artlessly caring side, while being both impetuous and adventurous. Rose Tyler was a little pink-and-yellow human who made him forget, and had managed to worm her way into his affections by not even trying.

And perhaps she didn't always save him, after that first time. There was a fair amount of saving each other… which he actually rather liked. He liked that she wasn't always practical, that he could say 'follow and see what trouble we find ourselves in' and she would. Without too many questions, without expectations; without anything, in fact, except a thirst for excitement that matched his own.

"I don't know what you keep in here," Rose complained, appearing back in the console room, her arms heaped with clothes in every hue of the rainbow. "I mean; your wardrobe, Doctor, it's… great. But what is _this_?" She shook out a green velvet toga, big enough to be a winter outfit for the Statue of Liberty; and the Doctor squinted at it for a moment, trying to place it.

"Ceremonial robe on Aquimin," he announced, snapping his fingers as he finally remembered. "Be careful with it, will you? Those are precious, the priests wear them."

"And how tall are they!?"

"Taller than you," admitted the Doctor. "About ten times your height… I hate going there. They always pat me on the head like I'm a toy poodle. Very demeaning."

"And this?" She held up what looked like two psychedelic tissues in swirling pinks and electric greens, laced together with silver cord.

"Huh. Evening gown, Fifty-second Century. I'll have you know, that one is from Earth."

"Evening gown for…who?" Rose held it up to herself, trying to shift it to either cover her upper half or her lower; because with the size of it, it certainly couldn't do both. The Doctor snorted in amusement, choosing not to tell her it was meant for a man, and worn more like a scarf.

"I suppose I could wear it as a top," she said slowly, completely unaware of him choking down his laughter. "To a club. But we're not likely to be doing that, are we?"

"Normal Twenty-first Century club?" He scoffed. "What's the fun in that?"

"Nothing! And I don't want to go back…except." She bit her lip, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

"Except?" The Doctor prompted.

"Except I'd really love my own clothes. Yours are great for dress up, but…I'd really just like my own jeans, and a few tops. Maybe another pair of trainers.

"And I should look in on Mum. I know," Rose sighed, "I can ring her. But she's my Mum, and I want to check on her. Properly check on her 'cause I miss her and... Doctor, can we go? Back to London, just for an hour?"

The thing was, he didn't want to. He was being selfish and he knew it; but he liked that Rose wasn't on at him about demands, talking about people to be saved or reminding him of some great destiny. Rose was just _Rose_; and he didn't like being reminded that she really did have a place she belonged… he preferred to think of her as another wanderer in time and space, like him.

Still, he wasn't proof against her pleading look. And it was easy to aim the TARDIS back to the Powell Estate twelve hours after he'd picked her up.

"Now," she cautioned, "don't go running off."

"No," a little voice piped up when she was out of earshot. "Don't go doing that, Doctor."

He was reluctant to turn his head because he knew it was there. A short, cross green imp with a grumpy look on its face.

"Ah," he said vaguely, "look who's turned up."

"Don't give me that." The imp glared, actually going so far as to stamp it's foot like a petulant child. "I've been running around after you since you went to have a little chat with the Nestene. The end of the Earth, Victorian Cardiff…and you ignored me both times! Do you make a habit of pretending you can't hear what you don't want to, Doctor?"

"Would I do that?"

"Wouldn't you?"

"Would I?"

"I sense," the imp said sourly, "that you can continue this debate for eternity."

"_Could_ I?"

A sigh. "Don't start that again."

"I didn't," said the Doctor. "_You_ did. I'm here, minding my own business; and you show up! Uninvited."

"I," snarled the imp, "don't need to be invited."

"You don't say!"

"You're being ridiculous." The imp gave him a withering look. "I'm here, Doctor, until you do what you're supposed to. Have you forgotten that you promised to help someone? There's a-"

"A poor, trapped Princess," the Doctor said in a mocking sing-song. "Locked away in her tower and waiting for her Prince Charming. Well, I was told that she was holding, so she can continue to hold."

"Is that fair on her? Hanging around…like she's a draft of an email, waiting to be sent?"

"How fair is it on me?" muttered the Doctor. "Forced into helping her?"

The imp snickered. "One day, you'll remember saying those words and feel guilty for your selfishness."

"Well," the Doctor said. "Guilt. No change there."

"Stop being maudlin."

"Stop being annoying!"

"I'm not annoying," the imp protested.

"You are, and I wish you'd go away." He might have been sulking just a little as he strolled away, kicking a piece of rubbish, when he caught sight of a paper tacked to the pole about a missing girl. One who looked like…

"It's not been twelve hours, has it?" The Doctor spun around, looking at the imp. It shrugged.

"Silly Doctor. I've said it before and I'll say it again: for a Time Lord, you are remarkably bad with time. And, I'll give you a bit of unsolicited advice. When you steal a ship, you ought to take the manual too."

"Borrow."

"Never brought it back, did you? And certainly can't return it now."

Biting back a snarl, the Doctor turned to walk toward the stairs, only to find the imp in his way. He took a step left, then right, the imp following him and blocking his way each time.

"Shove off, will you? I should get upstairs; Rose might need some help explaining."

"Not until you listen to me." The imp crossed its arms, small face serious. "Doctor, it's a whole year you've wasted while the Princess has been waiting… even if you did take rather a shortcut."

"She's holding," muttered the Doctor, shifting uncomfortably. "She's fine."

"She's trapped, losing hope and trying to be brave about the idea that you might give up saving her. Does that sound fine to you?"

"I've got a time machine!" the Doctor protested. "I can run around the world and be back in time for tea!"

"Except, you're so remarkably bad about that sort of thing! Mistaking twelve hours for twelve months… dear me, you are deficient in that Gallifreyan time-sense, aren't you?"

The Doctor scowled.

"And," the imp continued, giving him a sly, sidelong look, "what if something happens to you? How do you think she'd fare? If something happened and you couldn't make it back…how long do you think she should wait then?"

"That would never happen," the Doctor said. "I'm more resilient than you think."

The imp let out a giggle, shaking its head. "May I just say: your ego is amazing."

"And I'm modest too," the Doctor said, ducking around the imp and taking off at a run toward the stairs. "An all-around win.

"You'll see," he called down from the top of the landing, seeing the imp turn to look up at him. "She'll be fine until I get there. No worries."

* * *

Except that he kept replaying the imp's words in the back of his mind. The good thing about being a Time Lord was that unlike a human, he _could_ devote fifteen percent of his total brain power toward something like that, while the bulk of it was left to deal with Jackie Tyler slapping him, a spaceship crashing into Big Ben and chasing a terrified pigman through a medical lab.

But everything dovetails eventually; and for just a moment -trapped in a shelter by a farting alien, thinking that this would be an even worse way to go than in Cardiff; and why was it always _gas _lately!- he cringed at the thought that the imp could have been right. Very easily, no matter how nonchalant he was about the prospect, something really could bring about his end.

And what would happen to the Princess then? He wasn't sure. He wasn't even sure he cared… well, okay. Maybe he cared a little.

Maybe even more than a little.

"You still can't promise me she'll be safe," Jackie said as he stood with his arms full of Rose's bag, wishing that she'd hurry up and say good-bye already. "What if something happens to you, Doctor, and she's stuck on some moon a million light-years away? How long do I wait then?"

"Ten seconds." Rose soothed Jackie with a hug and words that he knew _she_ believed, even if her mother didn't. "I can travel and be back in just ten seconds."

_But not always. _He didn't say it; he stared uncomfortably off and didn't say a word because he _knew. _Sometimes it didn't work like that. Threnody had told him a story that last night -before he'd stopped wanting to hear her voice reminding him of what he should be doing- about a Princess trapped in a tower. The selfish yet brave Princess who did a selfless thing and found herself locked up for her pains…

Not every story had a happy ending. For all he knew, Rose might not have a happy ending, travelling with him. He hadn't said the words to promise Jackie that her daughter would always be safe because really, could he make that sort of promise to anyone?

And much later (after tea and chips and a small adventure for Rose to see a blossoming star) he stood by himself in the darkened console room, trying to decide what to do.

It wasn't as though he didn't know his failings. Since childhood back on Gallifrey they'd been the same. An overwhelming ability to talk, a disregard for safety and suspicion of authority. But it was a horrible thing after nine hundred years to really have to face your flaws; because after all that time, they've done you the disadvantage of becoming all the more glaring and pronounced.

He was selfish, terribly so. Very protective over his own independence, and too fond of running away when something wasn't going how he'd like it to; or when anyone tried to appeal to his better nature and force him to do what he didn't feel like.

Which he could live with, for himself. But perhaps he was feeling a little guilty. He'd always thought that even with those things, he was basically honest. Maybe even a little trustworthy. Not the sort at all to ignore someone in pain, or to make promises and not live up to them…

Without thinking too much about what he was doing, the Doctor pushed the CD with Threnody's consciousness into the drive.

"Hello," he called tentatively into the silence. "Threnody. You there?"

There was nothing. Her program must have booted up because the monitor had sprung into bland grey life, but there was no sound.

"Nothing to tell me?" he tried again. "Or are you sulking?"

More silence. The Doctor peered at the screen.

"Thought you'd always be here, you said. Whenever I needed you… I know I haven't been around much lately. Been busy, met a new companion…well," he shrugged, "I'm sure you knew that, didn't you? Rose. She decided to come travelling, guess she liked the idea of moving around in time? And she's fantastic, really is. Not bad at all for a human."

The absence of sound could be as loud as any noise, and the quiet in the TARDIS pressed down heavily into his ears. The Doctor barrelled on, speaking quickly as he looked for any sign of life from the monitor.

"But I was thinking today… the Princess. You were trying to tell me something about her, and I know this is a time machine, there's no rush… but I thought that maybe I should take another look at that poem. See about finally rescuing her… what do you think?"

He held his breath, expecting a reply; but the screen stayed blank and finally the Doctor let out a sigh.

"Alright," he admitted softly, "I shouldn't have turned you off. That was wrong, and I'm sorry about that. But I was… I just didn't want…

"Did I ever tell you, Threnody, I hate being told what to do?" He waited, listening for the sigh he knew she would have made. Or she would have laughed... made a snide comment of 'oh really, I would never have guessed.'

But there was nothing. The screen flickered a light pink, but that was all.

"And I just didn't feel like listening to you. I know that wasn't good, I know I made a promise to help her. But I hate being told 'do this now'. _I'm_ usually the one who says that…"

He paused, waiting for a response that didn't come.

"Thought you said you'd always be here?" the Doctor whispered, feeling irrationally hurt. "I wish you'd talk to me. I _said_ I'm sorry, Threnody. I'm willing to look at the poem now, or talk to you about the Princess…what else do you want?"

The time rotor startled him as it burst into sluggish motion, switches flicked at random; and the Doctor ran to see what the TARDIS was doing.

"Alright then," he said, a grim smile on his face. "Are you taking sides with the TARDIS, now? I forgot; you've an affinity for temperamental machines like her. I'm here. Coordinates of fifty-one, two…let's see what's waiting for me."


	14. A Future Yet Unlived

**Chapter 13: A Future Yet Unlived**

It wasn't what he expected. It was England, he'd known it would be. But for some reason he'd expected to walk into fire and blood and screams…

Well; there _were_ screams. But aside from tears over a few skinned knees and bumped elbows, they were primarily screams of laughter from the children climbing all over a playground, hanging upside down from monkey bars and sailing belly-first down the slide. Tentatively, as though he expected something to erupt in this pleasant pastoral setting, the Doctor sauntered toward a woman sitting by herself on the swings.

"This is nice," he said casually, trying to make it seem completely normal that he was in a playground without being accompanied by a child. "Never been here before, but it's nice and peaceful in this village. Looks like a great place to grow up."

"Yeah," the woman responded, not looking up at him, "it is. Bit quiet, if you like that."

There was something about her that had drawn him, almost like precognition; although he would have sworn he'd never met her before. But equally, there was something about her that gave him the creeps. It might have been the air of neglect about her- the bright red hair that hung in lank, unwashed strands past her shoulders and the chipped navy polish on bitten-down fingernails- or it could've been the way she kept her face turned almost resolutely away from him combined with the apathetic way she dragged her feet in the dust beneath the swing, the nervousness with which her hands clutched at the chains so tightly her knuckles were white.

Either way, there was something strange about her. He fought the urge to pull out his screwdriver and scan if she was human. She_ seemed_ human. Just… off. A ginger maw of negativity and unhappiness seated on a swing.

"Well," the Doctor babbled nervously, hoping he wasn't sitting next to a zombie, "quiet isn't really my thing. Probably good I don't live here; more fond of adventure myself. Seeing new places, new people, try new foods, make a fool of myself when I mess up local customs…"

The woman gave a snort of laughter. "I've a friend like that," she admitted, unthawing just a little. "He's just the same."

"Is he? It's not a bad way to be."

"No," she said, "not at all. We used to go on trips together, had a lot of fun. But that was before I moved back here with my husband."

"Oh, so that friend isn't your husband?"

"Ugh." Her look of distaste was the most animated he'd seen her so far. "He's not…ugh." She shook her head.

"That's a no, then?" teased the Doctor. She made a vomiting sound in response. "I'm sure he's flattered by your feelings toward him."

"Believe me, you'd totally understand if you saw him. Think of a twig with floppy hair and a bad fashion sense, and you'll have him summed up."

"Hey," the Doctor said, feeling irrationally offended, "looks aren't everything."

"Yeah," she agreed half-heartedly, "but they're worth _something_. And his clothes… well, they are something else. Of the see-it-to-believe-it variety."

"So," said the Doctor, "your husband, then? Well dressed? Good looking?"

"_I_ think so. I mean, my friend says that only anteaters have his sort of nose. But I think it suits him."

"And your kids?" asked the Doctor, scanning the playground and looking for any gingers, "same nose, or do they look more like you? Which one here is yours?"

The woman froze, turning to him with an expression he could only describe as terrifying. Her face had an unhealthy pallor with freckles standing out in stark contrast, her lips were pale and chapped, and her wide hazel eyes looked puffy and red-rimmed and perhaps just a bit vacuous... all of which turned what he had a feeling was normally a very pretty girl into…well, the zombie he'd originally feared she was.

"None of them," she whispered in a low voice. "None of these here are."

He hadn't needed to worry about being the only adult there without a child, then.

"I used to come here all the time," the woman said softly, looking lost in memories. "With my best friend. She loved it when I pushed her on the swings, and then she'd jump off and land… like a cat. She was always really graceful, even as a little kid.

"And my husband… I mean," she amended hastily, "he wasn't my husband then, we were seven, but we used to play together on the slides. He was always too slow about going down, so I'd push him when he wasn't ready, and he'd fall off the bottom and get mad…"

The Doctor frowned. Coordinates didn't lie; and this was definitely fifty-one, two. He'd checked. But was it the right time? Or was she even the right person? Had he really come here to listen to this woman reminiscing about a childhood that could only have been a few years in her past?

"So what's wrong then?" he asked, finally deciding that the best way to get an answer was just to leap in. "They're mad at you, is that it? Had a fight and they're not talking to you anymore?"

"No."

"You're mad at them?"

"No."

"Well," he grumbled, "give me something! Someone has to be mad, or you wouldn't be sitting in a playground looking like your life is over."

"No one is mad," she flared angrily.

"Especially not you?"

"_I'm_ not mad!" There were little patches of bright pink colour in her cheeks, making her look more vibrantly alive, even as her eyes filled with tears.

"Yes," said the Doctor in an incredulous voice. "I believe that."

"It's true," she grumbled. "I'm not mad, I'm just… thinking. And my husband…well, he's not mad either. And that's just the problem; he's being all 'it's ok, we'll work it all out and it'll be fine, we'll all be fine in the end' and he just doesn't see…"

She paused, closing her eyes. "It's not alright. It won't be, and I hate him for saying it even though he means it nicely, because it's not. All. Right." She spit out the last words in a rage, her eyes still squeezed shut and her face screwed up into a scowl; and the Doctor shifted uncomfortably. He wasn't good at this sort of thing. Crying women in a temper. He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket, pushing it into her hand and watched her blot the tears rolling down her cheeks, rubbing her eyes hard.

"Maybe," the Doctor suggested, feeling completely useless, "your husband is right? Things do work out…"

She gave him a withering look. "You're not one of those 'things happen for a reason' people are you? They make me mad."

"Oh, and I'd hate to see you get mad," muttered the Doctor. "Because you're a real cheer right now.

"Look, everything does happen for a reason. And maybe he's right. Maybe everything will work out, and things will be fixed and you'll all be fine-"

"Did you ever," she interrupted him, "have something that you didn't know you wanted? Like, you thought 'maybe I'll have that one day' but it didn't bother you that one day wasn't now. And then, suddenly, you got it. You held it in your hands, and you realised that you'd never feel complete again without it."

"Well," the Doctor started to say, but she kept talking right over him.

"And then it was gone. Like just… _gone_. And you didn't know –I mean, how could you if you never knew you wanted it?– how much it would hurt that you'd been careless and lost it."

She was staring at him, waiting for an answer; but he didn't have one to give her.

"Everyone has regrets," he suggested without enthusiasm. "And everyone loses things that they didn't know they'd miss until…"

He stopped abruptly, the gentle platitudes sticking in his throat as he remembered Gallifrey. His pain and grief during those first days, that feeling that the world had up-ended and he was lost and alone and without hope.

"Are you by any chance," he started to murmur, before cutting off the rest of his words. _Are you her? Are you the Princess? _But he had a feeling, the same one that had drawn him to sit next to her, that she wasn't. There was something reassuringly human about her. Not an enchanted Princess at all, only a grieving woman.

The Doctor sighed, casting a surreptitious look around for the imp. It was always there when he didn't need; he'd turn his head when he was out with Rose and catch a distracting glimpse of a swish of hair, or a small green face frowning at him. But when he needed it, now… Nowhere to be seen.

"Am I what?" the woman asked. She bit her lip, looking up at him with large, hopeful eyes; and the Doctor shrugged.

"Nothing," he mumbled. "It's nothing. I came here because I thought someone needed…"

_Help. _ At each coordinate, someone had needed help. He'd had to save someone… and maybe, she wasn't the right person here. It might not even have been the right timestamp; but suddenly he knew he couldn't walk away from her and her grief.

Once, he might have. After the Time War, he might have shrugged and said she was nothing to do with him, and why should he bother?

But he wasn't like that anymore, was he? Maybe he'd changed a bit. All those people he'd been doing things for along the way, not just Rory and Anthony and Angus, but all the people in Krakatoa, the Daniels' family, Rose and the rest of London and even Mickey the idiot… Maybe he'd become a better Doctor; one who was willing to help people again. Even if he didn't need to.

"I know how you feel," he said slowly, turning to the woman who'd been watching him with wide eyes. "It _hurts_ when you lose something. It's like a knife in your gut, like you're being slowly poisoned and you've acid eating away at your insides; and you think you'll never forget."

She gave him a watery smile through the fresh tears that had welled up when he'd started to speak. "Nice images. You must have quite a career as a motivational speaker."

"Hey, I'm quite motivational; you should hear me talk when I really get going. But listen to me," he reached out to pull the kerchief from her limp fingers and brush away her tears before holding her hands in his. "I know you don't know me. But I know how you feel, I do."

"Then what did you lose?" she demanded, looking curiously at him. "That you'd understand?"

The Doctor hesitated. "My home," he mumbled in a gruff voice. "I lost everything; big explosion and it all burned. I don't have a past now, everything is gone except my memories."

Her look of horror was swiftly replaced by sympathy. "I'm… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"Not your fault is it? It was," he swallowed, "mine. I caused it."

She squeezed his hands, gently. "I bet it wasn't. I bet there were other situations, maybe if something had been different then…?"

He shrugged brusquely. "No. Maybe. Anyway, I can't change it now. So now you know something about me…what about you? What've you lost, then?"

She let out a shaky sigh; and the Doctor wordlessly blotted at her eyes. "I lost my baby," she said softly. "Saying that sounds so stupid, it sounds like I put her down somewhere and forgot where. I didn't lose her, she was stolen. Kidnapped.

"And the thing that's worse than just the fact that she's gone is that I feel I should've known it might happen. Or I should have guessed… what sort of terrible Mum am I that I never even realised that what I was holding wasn't my flesh and blood?"

"I don't think it works like that," the Doctor tried to say, but she gave an impatient grunt.

"But aren't you just supposed to _know_? My family life when I was growing up, it wasn't really…" she gulped, words falling out of her mouth at high speed, "normal, you'd say. But I thought when I held her that I'd be better than they were. I'd never let her go no matter what. I'd always be there for her when she needed me; but then she was just _gone_.

"And we know someone who is working on it, so I know that she's still out there somewhere… because I know they needed her alive. They needed a baby with the right genetics so it's not like she's _dead_; even though it would almost be easier, if she was.

"And you must think," she continued, looking faintly embarrassed, "that I'm horrible for saying that; but if she was, it would mean I could say goodbye and know she's at peace. But right now, I just know that she's out there in the world, and technically she's fine and healthy and she'll grow up and be amazing; but not with me. I might never hold her again, and sometimes, I just want to _hit_ something or someone... just scream until the world falls down."

She took his handkerchief from him again, wiping at her eyes roughly; and the Doctor searched for something to tell her. Rory and Angus had been easy, compared to this. Physical things always were. But how do you fix grief?

When you've lost something irreplaceable -the way they both had- there are no kind words will make you feel better. Nothing worked, except the time to learn to accept your loss. To find other things to fit into the hole left behind until the raw edges of pain eased enough that you could wake up each day and not regret that you had; and for all his facility with words and world-saving, the Doctor realised with a sinking feeling, he was utterly lost here.

"I'm sorry." She sniffled, trying to smile at him. "I'm not like this usually. All weepy and drippy... It's just that I can't talk to anyone about it. My husband, he's just going to work all the time. I guess that's how he deals. And no one else around here even knows I was pregnant; we were away, you see? So I can't talk about it."

"Not to anyone?" The Doctor placed his hand over hers, squeezing gently to try to offer what comfort he could. "You lot, always jabbering on. Seems unlikely there's no one you can talk to…what about that best friend you mentioned? Or the other one, the one you travelled with?"

She sighed, a wry expression on her face. "Yeah, they know. Only, they aren't being much help. My best friend tries to make me feel better, keeps telling me that she's sure I'll get my daughter back, and when I do, she'll make sure she hurts the people who stole my baby. Makes these grand plans of revenge; that's really her, she was always like that. But there _isn't_ anything she can do. The people who stole my baby…" she snorted, "it's like they're not even human. And she's used to trouble and fighting and stealing; but she's like me. She wouldn't have any defences against them.

"It's hard to talk to her about this, because she seems so angry for me, she acts even angrier than I do. Like she takes this personally; when it's _me_, my daughter. Sometimes it's hard to take, because I don't _need_ her anger, I just want – oh, I don't know what I want." She sighed.

"And then my other friend… he knows too. He's trying to help and do something to save her, but..." She shrugged. "It's complicated. Neither of them knows the right thing to tell me to make it better.

"And, well." She paused, her eyes skipping away from the Doctor's. "There is someone else who knows everything. She's a friend; at least I always thought she was, and I used to trust her, because when she's around everything always seemed to work out alright. But she's involved with it -the kidnapping- in a weird way, which makes it all more complicated, even though I think she's trying to be there for me as much as she can. And it helps…_she_ helps with what she says, the most out of everyone. But sometimes I can't forget that she's different now that she knows I know; just not the same person I always thought she was."

"People don't change that much," protested the Doctor.

"You wouldn't understand, but she did. Or maybe it's just that how I see her is different. Anyway, most days I don't feel right talking to her about all this, and that makes me feel even more alone."

She subsided into silence, still looking away from him with her lips trembling; and it _hurt_ him, seeing her grief and her staunch locking-away of it. It hurt more than anything he could have imagined and he didn't know why; he just knew that he had to do something, say something to try to help. Whether she was the Princess or not, connected or not… he couldn't just walk away, here.

"I think," the Doctor said, trying desperately to find the right words, "that it's not complicated at all. Friends, you know. It doesn't matter if you think someone is different, or even if they completely understand and know the right thing to say, but if they care about you they'll be there if you need them. Because what do you plan to do with yourself? Keep sitting in playgrounds and crying by yourself?"

She scowled. "That's harsh."

"That's true."

"Even if it is! Still harsh! And what did you do, when your house burned? Just get up the next morning and say: 'well, I guess tomorrow is another day?'"

He frowned, thinking for a moment about the long days alone in the TARDIS. Of meeting the imp and going on a quest to find some lost Princess, of Rory and Anthony and Angus and all the steps that had led him _here._

And then he thought of Threnody. Of the nights when he couldn't sleep, hearing her clipped electronic voice telling him stories and drawing him out of his grief, making him smile and encouraging him to go out to do things to atone for the guilt he still felt in his hearts. She had helped him when he needed it most… because he had a feeling that if it hadn't been for her, he might not have met Rose. He might not have been alive enough to let anyone into his life, or care about anyone or anything again.

"I've got this…she's sort of a friend," he answered. "And she was there, as much as she could be. And I've met someone else now. I'm not," he paused, knowing the words coming out of his mouth were the truth, "alone anymore.

"And it's not the same as it was, when I had a place to call home. I'm not the same, because what happened did, and the past can't change. But it's not the end of the world, doesn't have to be. Why don't you give your friends a call? Never know, they might be more understanding than you think."

She gave him a tiny smile. "Hard to. They're not great about answering their phones."

"And I suppose," said the Doctor, "that it might kill you to leave a message, then? I'm not great about answering my phone either, but people always reach _me_ when they need to." He rolled his eyes. "You lot. Think things through! Call until they answer, find some way to get their attention. Send up a flare, if that would help."

She hesitated, considering. "Look, you don't know them. A regular message wouldn't do anything; all of them would only respond if it was something so huge and dramatic you could even see it from..." Her eyes went wide; and then she let out a small giggle, her face suddenly animated and glowing.

"Huh," she said, pushing his handkerchief back at him. "I've got to go."

"Have a plan, then?" asked the Doctor. Her answering grin was open and warm; and for just a moment she was so very familiar that his hearts jumped in his chest.

"I have a plan," she agreed. "But thanks for everything; that helped. _You_ helped… a lot."

"Going to go make a phone call?"

"Nope. Think I'll try writing a message instead. A really…big message. Much easier, especially when people don't answer their phones."

She gave him one more smile, looking nothing like the grief-stricken woman she'd been moments ago; and as she turned to run out of the playground toward her car muttering under her breath about wheatfields, the Doctor realised something.

She'd never even said her name… and he'd been so drawn into her and her sadness and her story, he'd forgotten to ask.

Still. Bossy, ginger and Scottish. He had a good memory; and he was sure he'd not forget her. He shook his head, smiling to himself and feeling his hearts lighten as he tucked his handkerchief -still wet from her tears- back into his pocket.


	15. A Situation Out of Control

_thanks to Sarah Blackwood for letting me steal her (stolen) line..._

* * *

**Chapter 14: A Situation Out of Control**

There were times River was impressed by her husband. When he was enthusiastic or clever, when he managed –often by wits and sometimes by sheer luck- to save the world; she'd look at him with a fond smile and sigh, feeling her hearts light with love for him.

Unfortunately, there were other times when only one word summed him up.

_Idiot_.

She'd actually groaned aloud, the first time he'd done -whatever it was he'd done- and prevented her from talking to him anymore. And it didn't help that she knew him. Knew his habits when he was scared or resentful; and knew that it wasn't so much that he didn't want to help, but that he wanted to run from obligations. Look how long he'd run from her, after all. The incipient promise of what River Song might be to him; and he'd fled like a scared rabbit across time and space.

Still, she sat in that bedroom. Waiting for him to grow up. Waiting for him to be willing to talk to her again. Because, really… what else could she do?

And then, when he finally did?

"Hello," he called tentatively into the silence. "Threnody. You there?"

"I'm here," said River archly. "Took your time about acknowledging me again."

"Nothing to tell me?" he asked. "Or are you sulking?"

"_You_ sulk when things don't go your way, Doctor. But I'm not that sort of girl."

He was quiet, not acknowledging her hit; and River leaned forward to peer closer into the mirror. She could read the confusion on his features, the little bit of hurt in the crease between his eyes.

"Thought you'd always be here, you said."

"I _am _here," insisted River. "Don't you listen anymore?"

But he wasn't. She felt a lump in her throat as she stroked her thumb softly over his reflection, all while he kept talking as though he couldn't hear her. He told her about Rose, he even apologised for refusing to listen before… but it didn't make up for the fact that he still couldn't hear her _now_.

"I wish you'd talk to me," he said, and River bit back a sob.

"And I wish you'd hear me," she retorted. "Or do something… prove that maybe you'd really want to listen? _Try_ going to the next coordinates; or am I supposed to tell you everything you're to do?!"

The TARDIS startled them both as the time rotor began to rise and sink; and as the Doctor ran to check the console, River began to laugh weakly.

The Doctor might have so often be able to save the day with wits and luck; but it was good for her that TARDIS was always on _her _side.

Except that it didn't help. He went to the coordinates; and River -knowing full well that outside the TARDIS he never could hear her, anyway- gave voice to her anger and frustration, swearing at the top of her lungs. _Damn_ their timelines: because she knew very well who that woman was, and why she was upset; andthis young, the Doctor had no clue.

There was a peculiar multiple-vision that came with being a time traveler; and this situation was almost worse because it had involved her, at so many different points in her own timestream. She'd been Mels -angry and bitter because it wasn't just Amy who had lost someone, it her as well always dealing with the aftermath- as well as the River Song fresh from Demons Run, trying to fill three-months-worth of awkward silence with tea and innocuous small talk with parents who couldn't quite look her in the eye, being sustained only because she knew the acceptance that would come in their future, her past.

And she remembered being in university -not quite River but no longer Mels- when a much older Amy apologized for what had happened and what was to come. She'd told her then about meeting a nice man who had been kind to her when she needed it, and how he'd talked to her about friendship, about moving on and finding a new direction for her life to take... And River had smiled and nodded, not quite understanding but feeling grateful to that man for whatever he'd said that helped Amy begin to come to terms with her feelings regarding her daughter.**  
****  
** Funny, but she was more used to associating the Doctor with White Wizards and kindly Grandfathers in fairy tales. She'd never thought Amy's mystery confidant would have been him… but of course. Who else would it have been? Of course he'd not needed to find the words in the future, because he'd already said them in the past.

* * *

There was a small sound like a cricket chirp; and River looked up to see a swing of long brown hair surrounding the small worried face that peered around the doorway into her bedroom.

"I've wondered where you were," said River mildly, putting aside her mirror to look straight at the child. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Charlotte nodded. "I thought you were mad at me. I didn't mean to run away from you, before."

River managed a small laugh, opening her arms in welcome as Charlotte ran into them. "No one ever does," she murmured, resting her cheek against the girl's silky brown hair. "Someone told me once, though: never run if you're scared."

"I wasn't scared," said Charlotte indignantly. "I knew you weren't leaving me alone forever. It was just that when you're not around, I miss you. You're not like everyone else here, River. You're something different."

"Yes," said River, "I have always been different."

"No, you are. You're more like Doctor Moon." Charlotte hesitated, one small hand creeping out to curl around River's fingers. "With everyone else, I can see what they are doing. I just _think_ about them, and they are right there in my head. But you've never been as easy to find; I have to focus and focus. And then, when you come here to this room, it's like something is shielding you and you're not even here at all."

"But this room," said River, "it's just an extension of the Library, Charlotte."

"It's not," the girl said. "I never dreamt up this room. _You _did. I don't even know what story it's from."

"It's not," River began, before she stopped, sighing.

"It's not from a story," she said finally. "This is my room, the way it was on the TARDIS. The desk is from the 51st Century; it was in my flat back when I was at Luna. I wrote my dissertation at it…" and River smiled because when she looked at it, it seemed she could see herself back then, so young as she frowned and groaned, trying to find the right words to document the Time War and the alternate ways it had ended.

"The shelves over there?" She gestured to the corner where three bookshelves leaned drunkenly, supporting each other. "The Doctor built those for me. Said he put his screwdriver to good use… even though I teased him afterwards. An appliance doesn't hold off enemies, and apparently he's not so good at using it for construction purposes either."

Charlotte squirmed a little closer until she was almost sitting on River's lap. "And there?" she asked eagerly. "The pictures?"

"The places we were married." She could sense Charlotte counting silently, only her lips moving and her eyes getting more incredulous as the number grew higher.

"I can save you time; it's at least two hundred. There's none from the first one; it was," she laughed, "a busy time. But we got pictures of so many of the rest… especially the ones my parents were at. Mother insisted; she had a photo album of all of them. She tried to put them up in silver frames at first, but," River shrugged, "there's no wall, even in the TARDIS to support that many."

Charlotte giggled, burying her face against River's neck with a little sigh; before she tilted her face up, her expression solemn.

"How did this room get here?" she asked. "Because it's not from a story; and the only things that are supposed to be here, are things from stories."

"I'm not actually certain," answered River slowly. "All of this, Charlotte; it's a database inside your mind. Things can be created, codes written…"

"But not for something that never existed before. You can borrow from a story… like the castle that Miss Evangelista lives in? It's from a real book. But this," Charlotte gestured around the room, "I never made it up. And it's not something I've read about… so, can I ask you something?" River nodded encouragingly, and Charlotte continued.

"What have you been doing here?"

It was the question she should have expected; but still, River paused, not knowing quite what to say.

_I've been talking to the Doctor, but not the one either of us knew. I was trying to make him care enough about people again to make him be the sort of person would want to save someone… I was encouraging him to run through time and try to save __**me**__; even though he doesn't know why he'd want to._

"It's a long story," she said finally.

"The best ones always are," answered Charlotte seriously; and River smiled.

"You're right," she said, kissing the top of the girl's head. "They are."

"So will you tell me?" Charlotte asked. "The long story? We've got time."

She wondered though, if they did. Since coming back from the last coordinates, the Doctor was still unable to hear her, no matter how often he tried or how loudly she shouted… and sometimes she had an unpleasant feeling that it was an indicator that the Witch had been correct. There had been a definite timespan she'd had to work in to get him to save her; and perhaps, it was coming to a close.

"How about," said River, "I tell you about a man I knew? Someone once called him a dark Prince travelling under a curse; but that wasn't true. He was only ever a traveller in a magic ship, someone who could look forwards and backwards in time, seeing great and wondrous sights and doing great and wondrous things. He was a hero to so many -all those people and places he saved- but for a long time, he was burdened down with guilt…because once he did something that he thought he'd never atone for.

"And he honestly thought for a long time, much longer than he would ever admit to, that he was so bad that the Universe was better off without him."

"And was he right?" Charlotte asked curiously. "Was the Universe better without him?"

"No," admitted River. "He was wrong. He often was, you know. There are stars in the sky, planets saved… there are people living and laughing and loving on a million planets, a million eras because of him, and what he was willing to sacrifice. He never realised," she said, "that sometimes the greater the sacrifice, the more there is to gain in the end."

"Do you believe that?"

River had one arm around Charlotte, cradling the child against her; but her other hand was in her pocket, fingers curled tightly around the small mirror that used to feel like a life-line to her husband, and didn't anymore.

"I have to."


	16. Deeds of a Dark Prince

**Chapter 15: Deeds of a Dark Prince**

The thing about travelling the way the Doctor did, about running through time and space, was that it was easy to forget how much time was passing. For him, it felt like only moments. Van Statten's museum, warping time so Rose could be at her father's side, floor 500; each new place was like only another hour in eternity.

The days blurred one into the other; and all of them were full of Rose. And even his nights… she'd become a usual sight in the console room, dressed in snuggly flannel pyjamas and clutching a cup of tea, watching him tinkering with the gravitational vectors and asking occasional questions about places he'd been, or where they were going.

Which was nice. It was nice to have her there. But he realised, occasionally, that he hadn't missed having a companion as much as he'd thought. Because for a while there, he'd had Threnody with him.

Except that she wasn't anymore.

He'd tried. Again and again and again, after Rose couldn't stifle her yawns and had gone to bed; he'd switched on the monitor and put in her CD and tried talking to her. But there was never any response, not even when he asked questions.

"That's all there was in the poem," he said, peering at the screen. "Three sets of coordinates, and I've been to them all now. Now I've got some lines I don't remember… and don't tell me you think I must be getting forgetful because I'm old, Threnody."

If she'd been there, he knew she'd have had a witty comeback.

_You, old? You were old five hundred years ago; you're practically ancient now._

"I'm not," he answered into the silence_._ "Prime of my life, this. Nine hundred is barely out of childhood."

_Pull the other one, Doctor._

His own laughter was the only sound in the room besides the hum of the rotor; and he sighed as he brought the poem up on the screen.

"Gift of life is given twice, saving requires redemption and honesty, framework of the impossible. Still no sense. I bet," he said slyly, "even you couldn't figure it out, hmm? Computers. Not as clever as they think they are."

But even trying to rile her made no difference. There was no answer; and every night the Doctor grew discouraged a little faster, huffing out an exasperated sigh into the silence as he turned the monitor off.

It was different when Jack was there. Adam had been useless –a prime example of humanity at its worst- but Jack was selfish and kind and funny and smart. Utterly entertaining; even if the Doctor wasn't fond of how he would eye Rose. (She was _his_, Rose was; he'd found her and enticed her along, and he didn't like the feeling that she might decide some square-jawed, chiselled ex-Time Agent could replace him in her affections. Maybe it was a bit selfish… but he certainly knew Jack didn't lack for other partners; and the Doctor wished however irrationally, that he'd keep his innuendo off of her.)

With Rose and Jack and Mickey the idiot, sometimes he was busy enough that he didn't think of Threnody or the Princess or the poem he still couldn't understand. He was even able to ignore the imp; although it was still there. Sitting by a bedside in St. Albans, trailing along underfoot on every trip and muttering about how it didn't see his fascination with Cardiff.

(Despite the rift, he didn't see why Cardiff kept drawing him either; but he deliberately set his jaw and pretended he didn't hear the imp's grumbles.)

He was busy, busy, busy; right until they were drawn into reality television, and Rose was gone –and then back again- and Lynda was keeping watch for Daleks while he struggled to build a Delta Wave.

"And now that everyone is gone, and it's just us two," the imp said, strolling out of nowhere to sit squarely beside the Doctor, "I was thinking we could have a little chat."

The Doctor spared half a glance at it, and shook his head impatiently. "No. This is a bad time for whatever you wanted. If you haven't noticed, I'm a little busy right now."

"When are your relaxing moments, Doctor? I think I must have blinked and missed them."

"You're annoying me," the Doctor snapped. "And I can't be annoyed right now. Look; if I don't fix this, then the Daleks will return. Everything: _boom_."

"Hardly _boom_. Daleks don't have the firepower. It's more: _flash _before they exterminate you."

"Expert on them, are you?"

The imp snickered. "I've been around. I know more than you'd think… and especially about them.

"Now," it continued, turning serious, "we _will _have a little talk, Doctor. You can keep working, if that makes you feel more useful."

"Thanks," muttered the Doctor.

"My pleasure. I do aim to be accommodating…unlike you. You haven't done a thing about your Princess."

"I tried," the Doctor said. "I went to those coordinates, all of them."

"And?"

"And what comes after that?" He put down his screwdriver carefully, sitting back to look at the imp. "You say that you know more than I'd think you do. So then, explain to me what I was supposed to do after that?"

The imp gave him a confused look.

"I read the poem," said the Doctor. "I went to those places. I met a woman who refused to give up on the man she loved, a boy who was brave even if he was scared, and a grieving mother. But I still don't know what I was supposed to do with that, or how those people connect into saving someone. If you want me to do something, then you have to give me some help…"

The imp's expression was almost carefully blank. "I can't, Doctor. I'm only here as your guide. I'm not the one who can provide assistance."

"Yeah," he said half-heartedly, picking up his screwdriver again. "That was Threnody. But she doesn't talk to me anymore."

"Or maybe you've stopped listening?"

"I listen!"

"To the things that are important?"

"She was important," muttered the Doctor.

_Is_, he amended in his mind. Present tense. Threnody _is_ important to him, and every day it hurt a little more that she'd just disappeared. His fault; yes, it was his fault. Hard to put into words why exactly he missed her, her stories and her sly humor and her exasperated scolding and her unflinching acceptance ... He just did, not that he wanted to admit that to anyone.

"She was important for the help she gave me for this stupid quest." The imp gave him an unimpressed look, as though it could tell he was lying.

"Look," the Doctor burst out, "she is important to me, and I've tried to listen. But she doesn't talk anymore."

"Then maybe," the imp said softly, eyes intent on the Doctor's face, "she did what she needed to. Accomplished her role in this, provided all the help she was able to. Everything else after that, you have to understand the importance of yourself."

"But how can I, if I don't know what all of it means? All of this," snapped the Doctor, "no one ever explained. Who I'm supposed to be saving…or even, why it had to be me doing it?"

The imp chortled a little laugh, standing up and stretching like a cat. "It's never been up to me to tell you those things, Doctor. You'll figure it out, given the time.

"And now I really ought to be going. You'll be quite busy here for a while…provided you survive this." The imp grinned at him, sharp white teeth flashing in the dimness of the room. "And if I may give you a piece of unsolicited advice-"

"Could I stop you?"

"No, you couldn't. You could choose not to hear it, like you so often do… but I wouldn't recommend it this time. You really ought to send your Companion home. Nice girl like that, so young and pretty. So brave and willing to stand by you, even into death…"

The Doctor lifted his head, anxiously. "Is it _Rose_?" he asked. The possibility had never occurred to him before. "The Princess?"

"No," admitted the imp. "She's brave enough, selfless enough… but she's not her. Your Princess would never have been just your companion."

* * *

In the end, he did take the advice. He sent Rose home; only to have her come straight back, blazing with the light of a thousand suns in her eyes, and a strength in her that he had never imagined before. He watched as she destroyed the Daleks, as she saved him and almost burned herself up… and then he kissed her. Knowing, even as he did it, what he was doing. That he was sacrificing himself to save her in gratitude for her saving him; and that soon who he had been and the things he had done with this face and body would be only a memory in the back of his mind. Like a half-forgotten story.

He strode into the TARDIS with Rose in his arms and placed her gently on the floor before walking to the console, putting in Threnody's CD for the last time. The monitor glowed dull grey, and he ran his fingers over it in a touch of nostalgia.

"Here I am," he managed to say. It would be a bad regeneration this time, he could tell by just how hard it was to talk, even this early. "Last time you'll see me with this daft face…not that you could see me anyway."

The screen flickered rapidly in shades of soft blue and grey, and the Doctor closed his eyes.

"Can I tell you something, Threnody? Course I can. And now is the time to do it. Here's the truth for you: I'm a selfish old man. Hate saying it, because sometimes I think that if I don't say it, it won't be true.

"But I was thinking when I sent Rose back, that it was wrong. Not because I was saving her, but because I'd rather leave than be the one left. I hate losing things and saying goodbye; and I wanted her to go back and forget me, but I didn't want to know if she was really willing to." His fingers curled tightly around the edges of the screen, and he sighed.

"Why am I telling you this? Because I wish," he murmured, "that you'd talk to me, one more time. I _said_ I was sorry, those months ago for not wanting to listen. I've tried to listen to you since, but now you're quiet. And I hate it," his voice was low, "losing things. And I lost you. Seems I always do that with what matters. Part of being old, I guess. Part of being a Time Lord who plays with lesser species. I should know better. Most of Gallifrey thinks-" he gulped for breath, "–thought of my companions like pets. Like I'm some madman who keeps adopting stray dogs.

"But they're not," said the Doctor slowly. "They're better than I am. They feel things so completely. They _do _things, so completely. All their heart they throw into something, until they succeed or fail. I'm not like that. Too many things to do, too much time; or too little, depending on how you think of it."

The process had already started. It was getting harder and harder to keep his mind on one track, and he was aware that he was starting to babble.

"Did I ever tell you," he asked faintly, "what I was offered for saving the Princess? Greatest reward of all. I was promised that I wouldn't be alone anymore. Thing is, I haven't been for a while..."

_Because I had you._ He closed his eyes, fighting down a vague feeling of sadness.

"I've got Rose," he said aloud. "And yes, she's human. And only about nineteen…ok, twenty technically. Legally, I might have cost her a year of her life; I was a little late in bringing her back. I think she'd say that it's worth it, though. The travelling…she loves the travelling and the adventures and the running… And she's fantastic. Really is. She did it all; absorbed the Vortex, got rid of the Daleks, saved me. Rose Tyler, the shop girl who saved the Doctor."

He glanced at her, still lying unconscious on the floor, and he smiled.

"You would've liked her, Threnody. And she would have liked you. My mouthy computer. Not so mouthy anymore.

"I'm sorry," he whispered one last time, bringing his hand up to CD drive. "I suppose I should have helped that Princess, should've figured it out a long while ago. Maybe I could have done it without your help, but I…" he paused, resting his head against the coolness of the screen, "I didn't want to. I wanted you there with me for it, like you were all along. And now it's too late. I'll be a different man, soon… can't know how these things go, who I'll be. But some things are for some people, and maybe the man who could have saved her will be gone."

He felt something brush his cheek; a feather-light, momentary touch. The Doctor managed to smile.

"That's new in the regeneration process. Felt like someone gave me a literal air kiss… how about I pretend that's from you; and maybe you accept my apology? I'm sorry that I couldn't be who you needed me to be."

It took almost all his strength to press that tiny button to eject the CD from the drive, and open the drawer that contained the other paraphernalia from that journey. Rory's hat, the scrap of plaid from Jamie's kilt. Even his handkerchief; he hadn't been able to bring himself to wash it, and had instead stuck it with everything else. The CD glistened on top, bright and iridescent as a mirror; and he forced himself to close the drawer and turn away right as Rose woke up.

* * *

_**Author's note:**_

_Okay. Before everyone shrieks (and threatens vengeance upon me), here's the thing: my original prompt was for Nine/River + Library fix-it._

_But… I realized after 'Name of the Doctor' aired that I was having a lot of trouble reconciling River's role and the Doctor's reactions in that episode. __SO. This chapter can be considered the end of Part One? Part Two is already written (I'm just editing before I post), and it ultimately ends better than… well, I guess, better than anyone seems to expect this story to._

_I've been incredibly nervous about posting this story in general, but rather specifically this chapter. At any rate: you guys are so lovely, those of you who read and review and follow, and *fingers crossed* I hope people enjoy._


	17. Stars in Her Eyes

**Chapter 16: Stars in her eyes**

River wanted to scream. Or throw something, slap someone, slap _him_… There were times that she could see quite a lot of Amy in herself, and this was one of them.

The problem was that she knew it didn't matter. Because this was how he was always going to end, this regeneration. Saving Rose Tyler, after she had saved him.

Still, it hurt hearing him and being unable to do anything. It seemed she'd so often been there, for his endings. Berlin, the Pandorica, Lake Silencio… but then, at least they'd both been physical beings. Now, he was real and she was a ghost; and River leaned forward to gently brush her lips against his reflection in the mirror.

"That's new in the regeneration process," said the Doctor. "A literal air kiss…how about I pretend that's from you, and maybe you accept my apology?"

"Always," murmured River, her throat thick with unshed tears. "Always and completely, right? But don't sound as though it's good-bye, Doctor. It's never really, because you hate good-byes."

"He might hate them," rasped a voice, "but on occasion, he does say them."

River spun around to see the Sea Witch gazing at her with a terrifying smile on her wizened face.

"How," River faltered, "how are you here? This isn't your story… I wasn't even thinking of you! Can you do that?" she continued curiously. "Walk outside where Anderson wrote you?"

"Normal rules don't apply to me." The Witch paused, her head tilted to the side. "They've never applied to you either; though I doubt you entirely noticed that. Still," and now she smiled, "I've come to you because I believe your time here is up. The Doctor is regenerating, he's as good as said good-bye… and I've _enjoyed_ our little game, Melody. Have you?"

"Oh," River shrugged. Her every instinct was telling her to run. That something was about to happen…

"It's been interesting," she answered, giving an insouciant smile, gently tucking the mirror into her pocket. "I'm not sure I'd say enjoyable."

"Talking to the Doctor again? Seeing him run around to try saving you…" The Witch gave a little laugh, the sound of it emerging soft… almost musical. "What do you think of the outcome, my girl? Him practically giving up! Acknowledging that his next regeneration might not be the type of man who could save you… and I do have to ask, in the face of that. Do you think you've failed in our bargain?"

The thing was, by all intents and purposes: she had. If he'd stopped being able to hear her, was even entertaining the thought that perhaps he might no longer be the man could have helped; then it was tantamount to failure.

River Song, though, had never been one to admit defeat.

"He could still do the right thing," River said stubbornly. "Figure things out. Did you know, he spent almost two hundred years running away from the fixed point of Lake Silencio? He's that sort… sometimes he needs space to realise just how to do what he's supposed to. And he doesn't like feeling trapped…"

The Witch nodded thoughtfully. "He _is _like that," she murmured. "Such a stubborn one. The rest of the Time Lords weren't like him; but for all our sakes, I suppose we're lucky the Doctor is the way he is. Needing someone to force him into what he's meant to do; and I truly thought you'd be the one to push him this time."

"So then," asked River, feeling her hearts beating a little faster, "you understand what I mean? And you see: I haven't failed, I just need a little more time to work on him.

"_And_," she added, "help him understand the rest of that poem. There were lines with no coordinates. How was he to figure those out?"

"Yes," the Witch said slowly. "The poem. So much faith you've putting into that, into him knowing where to go… but how funny that you never thought that you both had tasks to fulfil. His were physical and yours were not… and maybe not everything in that poem was meant for the Doctor."

It was a horrible feeling dawning on River, and her eyes widened, hands clenched into fists at her sides before she managed by sheer strength of will to relax.

"You tricked me," said River. She was proud; her voice didn't waver or show any other sign of her anger or worry. "You set me on some impossible mission, didn't give me all the information…"

"Not impossible." The Witch was shaking her head, a tiny smile on her lips. "And I didn't trick you. I gave you what you wanted: a chance. You've done the best you could -better than you might realise- but there's nothing more you can do like this."

Swiftly, she darted one hand out towards River, who flinched at the very real, solid feeling of the Witch's fingers tight on her wrist. It seemed that suddenly she could see sparks alight in the Witch's eyes. Tiny dancing flecks of gold within the darkness; and she tried fruitlessly to pull her hand away. The Witch chuckled merrily, leaning close enough that she could hiss into River's ear.

"I hope that you didn't forget the terms of our agreement? You had your part to play; but when it was over, you would belong to me. Your soul and your memories… because after all, what did the Doctor see you as?"

"He _couldn't_ see me," snapped River, still trying twist her arm out of the Witch's grasp. It defied explanation how a fictional character within a computer world could be this strong; but it was impossible for her to get away.

"You were a voice without a face to him," said the Witch flatly. "Something he could ignore when he chose… because that's all that's left of you, now. An echo. A ghost with no substance.

"But when you come to me," she murmured, voice hypnotic, "oh, my Melody Pond. You will be so much more…"

Her grip was punishingly hard, and River let out a low cry at looking down, seeing tiny pinpoints of light dancing beneath the Witch's skin, jumping beneath her fingers to River. It _hurt_, like being filled with stars; and it was only the stern mental reminder that this world wasn'treal that finally gave River the strength to tug harder than living bones and flesh could have stood, before she managed to pull herself free.

"You might know my name," she spit out, rubbing frantically at her arm until the sparks faded, "but you don't know me at all! Because if you did, you'd know that I'd never just accept something like this… why would I ever let someone tell me what to do when I can change things myself?"

The Witch began to laugh. She looked and sounded like a demonic thing from nightmares; the faint patterns of light swirling beneath her skin, her eyes a hypnotic whirl of gold as she laughed and laughed, ignoring River's panicked look.

"Oh, you are like him, aren't you! I chose well. Will you try to run?" she wheezed, clutching at her stomach and doubling over. "You never can. You belong to me now… and you always have. This was always meant to be."

In horror, River looked down to see the spiralling lights begin again under her skin. They were on both hands now, creeping up her wrists, making their way past her elbows… Her face hurt, her cheeks were hot; and every time she turned her head, she could see sparks twisting along her curls. Glittering, shining hints of gold, flickering in and out like fairy lights.

"I think you're trying to combine too many story ideas," said River calmly, taking one slow step backwards. "And I'm not certain Charlotte was incorrect about having something wrong inside her head… perhaps Doctor Moon isn't functioning correctly?"

"Doctor Moon is fine," the Witch said. "As is Charlotte. I'm quite good, you know, at giving people what they need… and after I've taken care of you, I think that little Charlotte and I will have a bargain of our own to make."

"Stay away from her," River warned, still backing up one careful step at a time. "I'm not sure of what you are…"

"Oh, I'm something new in this world," the Witch whispered. "I'm surprised it has taken you so long to understand that Anderson never wrote me! One day a line will connect and a link will be left open to let me in here so I could find you. Give you the opportunity to talk to the Doctor again, to save yourself the way you wanted…"

There was too much to focus on. Her hearts beating faster and faster, the golden sparks in rapidly shifting patterns beneath her skin that burned down to her bones… but she had enough presence of mind to hear the importance of that statement.

"Someone let you in?" asked River, gritting her teeth against the pain. "Then you don't belong here. You're like a…virus. Corrupting the database."

"And," she continued while still backing up slowly, hoping the Witch wouldn't notice and try to stop her, "if something connected to let you in…then it stands to reason, that it goes both ways.

"Something can get out, too."

In a way, she'd always been so much like the Doctor. Changing the world and running through time and space. Refusing to follow rules, forcing them instead to suit her motives.

And she was like him now. When trapped and faced with a danger that she wasn't sure how to defeat, she took his course of action.

She ran.

Fled across the landscape of the Library database, her mind seeking that link, the opening that had let the Witch _in_ and could let her out. There had to be something she'd missed before, some means of escape; and she sought every exit she could, running codes through her mind but so often coming up with possibilities that only led to dead ends and traps, as her feet tripped through the story pages.

She was starving and exhausted and shrewd and selfish, on a horse-drawn carriage leaving a burning Atlanta behind; thinking only of her own survival, the comforting presence of the man beside her who infuriated her yet always came when she asked, and the safety of home that waited if she could make it. She was in France at the barricades, throwing her hand in front of a bullet to save the man she loved even if he didn't love her; gasping in shock and pain as life ebbed from her body and she died in his arms. She burst onto a field with a limpid-eyed girl and glittery boy before hastily backtracking from that one…tame vampires had never been her thing.

River stumbled through the folios of Shakespeare; urging her husband into murder and then wiping blood off her hands, spending some time as an imperious Cleopatra before the memories overwhelmed her –_he _had always loved her in that sort of outfit- and she took off again.

She ran until she wasn't certain any more of why she ran… except that River Song had always been a survivor despite the odds, and she refused to stop now.

And then in a burst of light and bone-jarring pain, she found herself in Victorian London. Hovering in the shadows, crying softly because she_ hurt_ as she hadn't since she was alive; and watching three figures creeping closer to her, murmuring in familiar voices.

* * *

_AN: for those who curious about River's literary references… She found herself as Scarlett (Gone With the Wind) and Eponine (Les Miserables). Twilight crept in there too... not sure why._

_And I couldn't resist the Shakespeare references, for obvious reasons *cough*Macbeth at the Park Armory*cough*_


	18. The Inhabitants of the House

**Chapter 17: The Inhabitants of the House**

They were like a parody of the Three Bears. One short and dumpy, one medium sized and lithe, one tall and shapely in flowing veils and skirts. The medium sized one carried a candle that she shone into the corners of the room; the short one walked with heavy stomps and deep grumbles; and the tall one moved with a sinuous, slithery grace.

_Like a lizard_, thought River with an internal grin as she realised just where she was, and who she was facing. Of all the stories in the world, perhaps luck was on her side that she'd ended up _here._

"There is something here," muttered the small dumpy man. "I sense a ghost?" He straightened up, snapping his heels together like a soldier.

"Yes," he said decisively. "A ghost, Madam, one with a giant head. I suggest that I deploy the grenades."

"Don't be silly, Strax." Jenny sighed, still prowling the room as she moved her candle to flicker light over dusty bookshelves and under tables. "What'll grenades do on a ghost, hmm?"

"Blow it to smithereens, boy. Turn that ghost to dust!"

"Blow us to smithereens, more like! And it's a _ghost_, Strax. It's already dust."

"Be quiet, you two." Vastra was standing in the centre of the room, so still she could be a statue. Obligingly her companions fell silent, and she waited one more moment before cautiously calling out: "are you there? No reason to be afraid. We won't harm you."

"I'm not afraid," River said. But even she could sense how her words seemed to fall flat before her, as though they lacked the power to make it far enough to become audible.

"I can sense you, whoever you are." Vastra walked on silent feet around the room, until she was standing right before River. "I feel I should tell you that where we are now is an empty house on Paternoster Row. The owner has put it up for sale, but asked that it be investigated as the previous occupants reported hearing someone crying… Which I suppose, must have been you."

"Yes," said River whimsically, "that would be a logical deduction. The Doctor always said you were better than Sherlock Holmes. Being green must give you special powers."

Vastra paused, seeming as though she was listening hard.

"I think I _heard_ something," whispered Jenny, creeping closer.

"As did I," murmured Vastra. "Let us see, my dear, if it will answer?

"My companions and I," she continued, "are in the market for a house. With Strax to join us, we have quite outgrown my old one… Except that I am reluctant to purchase this one, unless I know that you are benign. I sense that you are not human… there is," her tongue flickered out, tasting the air, "a certain electricity about you. Familiar… but quite unlike Jenny. Therefore, you are of some other nature. Furthermore, I can guess that however you've ended here as spirit but not body, you must feel lost and alone. I'm no stranger to that, myself."

"Yes," River said, "I know you'd understand how it feels to be displaced. You're a lizard from the dawn of Time, and I'm a computerized fugitive from a database who lacks a physical form."

"That wasn't crying," Jenny insisted. "I heard it; that was _talking! _Did you hear it, ma'am?"

"I did." Vastra's voice was stern as she brushed her veil back from her face. "If someone is here, please, make your presence known!"

"I'm trying," River said, gritting her teeth and focusing all her thoughts upon trying to force them to see her. "It's not as though I particularly enjoy being ignored!"

It was incredibly frustrating to not be able to force her will to be done. All that time in the database, she'd only had to think of something for it to happen… but River paused, suddenly feeling strange.

All that time in the Library, no matter the adventure she was on, she could feel that sense of wrong. Events happening in a world of timelessness… but there was something else here, twisting around her mind, wreaking havoc on her senses. She could feel the faintest glimmers of reality seeping in at the edges… and Vastra let out a sharp gasp, recoiling.

"It's not," she hissed. "It can't be!"

"Madam?" Strax turned around, confusion written over his face.

"Did you see it, Jenny? Or you, Strax? Can you see her?" Vastra held her hand out, her expression wondering. "For just a moment I thought it was..."

River trembled; fear and excitement coursing through her veins as she reached toward Vastra and concentrated…

"It's a giant head!" Strax bellowed. "Retreat, Madam! I'll hold it off!"

"It's hair!" cried Jenny. "It's hair… and I can see it too!" Fearlessly, she walked closer to River, the light from her candle gleaming dully off her cat suit.

"Professor Song?" she asked. "Is it…. But if you're a ghost, then that means you're… 'ere, is it really you?"

"I think," River managed to say, knowing this time they could hear her, "that I've never been so happy to see familiar faces

Vastra began laughing, an uneasy frightened laugh that nevertheless had real amusement in it.

"I think," she answered, "that we're quite pleased to see you too. Whatever all this means."

* * *

Madam Vastra did purchase the house on Paternoster Row; and it was something about the dynamic of those three –the Sontaran, the Maid and the Lizard Woman- that helped River manage it. Perhaps it was that they provided a bridge between the literary world and the physical, helped along by her real-life intimacy of them…? Because at first she'd thought she was in one of their mystery novels. 'The Ghost in the Parlour' had the same set-up after all… but this _wasn't_ a book. It was real; she could sense time and events rushing inexorably around her as she never could in the Library.

And in the end, she didn't really care how it had happened. Sometime in the future, she'd ferret out the why and how… all that mattered now was that her old friends had somehow managed to bridge the gap that led her slowly back to reality.

In the beginning, the ability to meet them in trance was easiest -in a dream-setting they could all have substance- but soon, River found herself trying to stretch further out into their world, pushing her mind beyond the boundaries of what she'd thought possible before… and oh, but it hurt. Nerve endings on fire, her brain screaming as it tried to find a place to reside when she had no physical matter for it to dwell within.

But it was a _good_ hurt. A productive one; the itchy feeling of healing skin and the closing of a wound. She learned to control it in short bursts. Forcing her voice outward so she could be heard, concentrating hard on being visible… and the day that Jenny set her a place at the table, forgetting that she wasn't really there, was one of the best in the world.

Still, it was an odd feeling. Because however all this had happened, there was still an element of being trapped to this brand of freedom. It would be impossible to feel anything else, because while her mind might be out of the database and she gradually learned to materialize in the house on Paternoster Row; there was part of her that still wasn't real. She lacked a physical body; and frustrated, River floated through the halls. Brushing sword hilts and blasters with mostly insubstantial fingers, pacing beside the fireplace in the sitting room until –if she were a tangible being instead of an occasionally visible ghost- she might have worn a hole in the floor.

Strax said nothing about her behaviour; indeed, Strax seemed to try in his own brusque way to distract her with tales of battles and crushing opposition, not realizing that his stories made her long for activity. And Jenny was kindness itself. Sweetness with an enchantingly gamine smile, a wide-eyed dreamer with a sturdy streak of practicality.

But Madam Vastra was different. It must, River thought abstractly, be something about her Silurian background. No one could beat them on their poker-face abilities; and when Vastra sat like a statue with only an occasional movement of her eyes showing that she was alive, it was impossible to know what thoughts were going through her head.

"I have a feeling," River said, drifting into the solarium, "that you have something on your mind."

"I have a great many things on my mind," answered Vastra, seemingly absorbed with stirring milk into her tea and not looking up. "There is a Bengat living in Piccadilly that keeps taunting the local children, and something I suspect to be a nature spirit, attempting to enact the Great Hunt in St. James Park.

"But currently, what occupies me is that today is a beautiful day outside in London. Bright warm sunshine, clear blue sky… don't you, my dear Professor Song, wish to go outside and see it? Feel the air on your face, drink in the beauty of England in springtime?"

"How could I?" asked River tartly. "I'm haunting _your_ house, Madam Vastra; this is where I got called to. I'm not sure I could even step outside… it might be impossible to materialize anywhere else."

Vastra snorted in amusement. "Professor Song, I never thought that you faltered in the face of difficulty."

River sighed. "I forget sometimes," she said, "that you know me as well as you know my husband."

"He is an old friend, as are you. And sometimes," Vastra paused slyly, "you can say things to friends that they might not want to admit for themselves."

"Such as…?"

"Such as the fact that I think you are unhappy… or at the very least, not as happy as you could be. In truth: Jenny, Strax and I are very domestic. Our sphere of influence is here; and like the Doctor, you have never been good at being in one place…

"Even with my companions and myself as distractions," Vastra was deliberately not looking at River, "there is a growing sense about you that you are restless."

"Isn't restlessness the definition of ghost-hood?" River asked, her lips curving into a smile. "I don't think I've ever heard of a complacent spirit, Madam Vastra."

The lizard woman gave a merry laugh, peering at River with bright, shrewd eyes. "No, I suppose not. Still, I think that you would feel better if you at least attempted to venture outside our little home."

"And go where? Do what exactly?" River held up her hands, focusing her attention upon them so that for a brief moment they flickered solid before fading insubstantial again. "Even if I were able to leave, then what? I don't have a physical body. I can't do anything, or effect anything directly." Unconsciously, she twisted her fingers together before looking down with a faint smile.

"Look at me, wringing my hands like a proper ghost. I'll be wailing and rending my garments next."

Vastra actually laughed at that, leaning back in her chair to survey River with amusement for a moment.

"I think," she said, trying to be serious, "that there is very little you are incapable of turning to your advantage, even now. And as for what you should do, or where you should go? I can't answer that."

"Not helpful at all," muttered River. "Ordering your resident spirit out, but not giving me a hint…?"

Vastra looked away, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. "I do not know," she said, "how much of your education was devoted to the Silurians? Not much, even in the 51st Century, I am certain. But there is something about my race… we are prone to greater flashes of insight and premonition than the human usurpers, though as always the case with clairvoyance, it is difficult to interpret the full meaning."

She leaned forward, eyes staring urgently into River's. "All I can tell you, Professor, is that I have the sense that your presence among us is an indication that your adventures are unfinished, and there is still more for you in the Universe. And if you never take the steps to leave this house, it will all be for nothing."

"You think I have unfinished business?" asked River.

"And how is the Doctor?" countered Vastra smoothly in a non-sequitur; and River frowned.

"How would I know? It's not as though I've seen him."

"Perhaps you should?"

The lizard woman's entire tone and posture was a challenge as she threw out those words; and after a few agonizingly long minutes, River groaned.

"The Doctor told me before: never get into a staring contest with a Silurian. It's not right that you don't need to blink."

Vastra shrugged. "Every race has its advantages."

"How do you propose I find the Doctor, anyway? I don't know where to look."

"My dear," said Vastra, looked immensely pleased with herself, "he travels in time and space. I'm certain that if you try, you will find him. And please don't worry about us, here by ourselves!"

"I wasn't going to," retorted River, standing up to go. "I'm sure that if you need me for any reason, you won't hesitate to give me a call to stop in for a cup of tea and a chat."


End file.
